


The Duck Knight Rises

by Ninja_Librarian



Series: The Many Adventures of Duckburg's Heroes [1]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Cartoon Typical Violence, Combines 2017 Ducktales with the original Darkwing Duck pilot, Darkwing can't catch a break, Darkwing is a dork and we love him, Della and Scrooge have issues that yelling at each other are not resolving, Della takes some of those issues out on Launchpad, Excessive use of the phrase "Keen gear!", Gen, M/M, Obviously he does not deserve it the cinnamon roll too pure for this world, Slightly More than Cartoon Typical Violence, Teamwork makes the dreamwork, Webby can spot a new friend a mile away, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-08-11 08:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninja_Librarian/pseuds/Ninja_Librarian
Summary: Making a name for yourself as a superhero is even harder than making a name for yourself as an actor. Darkwing Duck, the newest caped defender of Duckburg, the Terror that Flaps in the Night, can't get out of Gizmoduck's shadow. Worse, he can't get anyone to believe that he's a superhero in his own right and not, ugh, Gizmoduck's sidekick.When he finds out that Tarus Bulba--crime boss of St. Canard, currently running his operation while doing time--wants something to do with a weapon called the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, he also learns something else: the inventor's orphaned granddaughter might just be the key to making the machine work.When Bulba issues a challenge to Darkwing Duck, he knows he can't face Bulba and protect Gosalyn. So he takes her to the one person he knows can and will help him out: one Launchpad McQuack.******A fusion of 2017 Ducktales and the original pilot episodes of Darkwing Duck.





	1. Chapter 1

Trying to make a name for yourself a superhero was way too much like trying to make a name for yourself as an actor, Dra—er, Darkwing Duck had determined.

All crimes were big crimes when you were looking for your next big break, you never got as much recognition as you deserved, your name was always misspelled or mispronounced in the media, and everyone always knew the name of the bigger, established star.

In this case, Gizmoduck.

And also in this case, thanks to that infernal mechanical menace’s interference in his first few big successful rounds of crime stopping, everyone thought that Darkwing Duck was Gizmoduck’s sidekick.

To Darkwing Duck, the term ‘sidekick’ was too reminiscent of the times he saw ‘understudy’ beside his name. Well, not Darkwing Duck’s name, per se, but… Never mind, that was in the past and not important.

What was important was this train traveling from St. Canard and headed to Duckburg. Darkwing wasn’t sure at all what exactly the cargo was, but when large birds of prey carry suspicious boxes while following the train, he had a feeling it was important.

Especially because, according to the information he had gathered, the incarcerated crime boss of St. Canard, Tarus Bulba, had a large trained vulture as a pet.

Also according to the information he had gathered, Bulba was still running his crime ring in the big house.

Darkwing knew that this would be his big break… Saving the train’s cargo, and likely the crew as well, ensuring it all arrived safely in Duckburg. Stopping Bulba’s reign of terror for good. And Gizmoduck was nowhere to be seen… Hadn’t been for a few days, actually. While this should have pleased Darkwing to no end, he was miffed that the jewelry store thieves he had stopped and hand-delivered to the police station ended up with zero press and only a small mention of his deeds in the paper.

Named only as Gizmoduck’s plucky assistant.

There wasn’t even a picture.

And who even reads the newspaper anymore?

From the tree he was in, Darkwing dropped onto the top of a train car, nearly losing his balance and ultimately landed on his tailfeathers.

At least the baddies (and the media, which could be the same thing) weren’t around to see that…

He hoped.

He quickly determined which car held Bulba’s target. It was hard to ignore the armed military guards.

That piqued Darkwing’s interest considerably. Whatever it was, it had to be dangerous. Or valuable. Or both. A weapon of some sort, maybe.

He dropped down onto the end of the car directly across from the guards, cape fluttering in the wind.

“Gentlemen!” Darkwing called grandly. “I do not mean to alarm you, but I suspect that what you are guarding is in danger of being stolen by Tarus Bulba. But never fear, for I, Darkwing Duck, will ensure that will not happen!”

The guards exchanged a look, and then sinister grins.

“Are you sure about that?” One asked.

“Yeah, how do you know you haven’t already failed, Dorkwing?” The other chimed in.

Darkwing felt the blood drain from his face.

Or he could have just announced his presence to two of Bulba’s men posing as guards. That could happen, too.

As they approached to cross over to Darkwing’s car, he leapt over them, landing on the car with the cargo. He forced open the door and locked it, leaving the two fake guards to hammer away on the door.

Panting slightly and trying to come up with a new plan, Darkwing looked up at the cargo. Yeah, it was definitely a weapon…

In the dark, he squinted at writing on the side of the control panel.

“The Waddlemeyer Ramrod…” He whispered. “What does it do? And why does Bulba want it?”

“That’s for Bulba to know, and you to find out.”

Darkwing whirled around, shoulders slumping as he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Ah, phooey,” He sighed.

Suddenly, an explosion ripped a hole in the top of the train car, and a tall ram grabbed hold of Darkwing, throwing him as if he weighed nothing out of the hole.

Darkwing landed on top of the remains of the roof, pushing himself to his feet, trying to gasp for breath as the ram was now joined by the two fake guards.

“Looks like we’ve got Gizmoduck’s little sidekick,” The ram said gleefully.

Darkwing sneered. “I. Am. Not. A. Sidekick!”

Years of training in stage fighting had helped him many times since he donned the cape, mask, and fedora of his childhood hero, but when it was three-to-one in cases like this, Darkwing was always painfully reminded of one thing:

In stage fighting, you’re not actually trying to hurt the people you’re fighting. You’re just acting.

These three goons were most definitely not acting.

Darkwing found himself ungracefully dumped onto the roof of the next car, one of the goons unlatching the car with the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, which had now somehow sprouted wings and was flying back towards St. Canard.

Darkwing groaned and rubbed his forehead.

Great. Just great.

There went a weapon into the hands of a notoriously ruthless criminal, _and _his big break.

Yes, one was more important than the other, he knew.

But still.

Darkwing sighed and carefully jumped off the back of the train.

At least he could figure out what exactly Bulba may be up to.

*****

Darkwing felt like a teenager sneaking home after a night of partying as he wrestled with the stuck window of his apartment, standing on the fire escape and hoping none of his neighbors came to investigate the mysterious noises. Or, worse, call the cops.

He could kiss a secret identity good-bye if he had to explain that, yes, officer, he did live here…

He really needed to bug his landlord about getting this darn window fixed. Again. Like he hadn’t already done so three times in the last month.

Finally, the window opened and Darkwing crawled in, closing the window behind him. He started to take a step away…

Only to be jerked back.

Darkwing turned around to see what grabbed him.

And… he got his cape stuck in the window. Again.

Darkwing sighed, briefly considered just taking off the cape and dealing with it in the morning, changed his mind and wrestled the window open, freed his cape, and then closed it again.

Darkwing turned on a lamp and glanced around the sorry excuse of an abode he called an apartment. It was small and cramped, one room with a kitchen on one side and what could barely be called a bathroom adjacent on the other. But it was cheap and available, and he had desperately needed something that was both. Boxes were everywhere, none truly unpacked, and the couch that doubled as his bed covered in blankets and socks, and the coffee table that doubled as his dinner table held wrappers and dishes and his laptop.

He changed out of his Darkwing uniform and into a comfy flannel shirt, then went and grabbed a bowl and filled it with cereal. He opened the threadbare fridge and then groaned and smacked his forehead on the sticky note that read ‘BUY MILK!!!!!!’.

He forgot the milk…

He grabbed a spoon anyways and plopped onto the couch, opening his laptop.

“Alright, Bulba,” He muttered around a mouthful of dry cereal—ugh, his mouth was going to feel awful later—as he typed in ‘WADDLEMEYER RAMROD’ into the search engine. “What are you up to?”

He didn’t find any direct results for his search, but did find several news articles immediately, all from St. Canard-based newspapers.

Apparently, this Waddlemeyer guy had died six months ago. An in-home accident, apparently. Darkwing skimmed the obituary and articles about the man’s life. He had won numerous awards, had made numerous advances in technology and military-grade defense systems, was considered a good man by all. His funeral had been attended by at least ten world leaders or representatives of a nation. Was preceded in death by his wife, his son, his daughter-in-law.

His only surviving relative was a nine-year-old granddaughter named Gosalyn.

Something about this piece of information made his blood run cold and ruffled his feathers.

He went back to the results page, then amended his search terms to include Duckburg. Why was the Ramrod coming to this city?

That answer was a bit buried in a lot of useless results, but then he found one article that seemed promising.

FAMED INVENTOR’S FINAL PROJECT TO COME TO DUCKBURG.

Apparently, Waddlemeyer’s Ramrod—the final project in question—was inoperable because no one except the inventor knew how to work it. The Ramrod was coming to McDuck Enterprises’ research lab where renowned inventor Gyro Gearloose was supposed to determine how to make it work.

Darkwing leaned back on the couch. Bulba didn’t know how to make the machine operable. But what if…

Darkwing sat up, setting down his bowl and rushing back to the closet for his costume.

Now he knew why the thought of little orphaned Gosalyn Waddlemeyer made him feel uneasy.

The last living relative of Waddlemeyer might know the code. Or maybe she didn’t.

But he needed to find out for certain before Bulba did.

Even if it meant going back to his hometown, the place he swore he would never return.

“St. Canard,” Darkwing muttered as he revved the engine of his motorcycle. “Here I come.”

Ready or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Gosalyn grinned as she lined up her shot, raising her hockey stick... With this shot, she’d win the game and then she and her teammates wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the week for any chores.

“Gosalyn!”

Gosalyn let out a cry as her shot went wide, bouncing off a tree instead of the back of the net.

“Ugh, Mrs. C!” Gosalyn groaned, turning around. “You made me miss my shot!”

“Thank you, Mrs. C!” The goalie called out, sounding truly grateful, the big wimp. So Gosalyn’s game-winning shots tended to be scored by the puck hitting the goalie in the gut and sending him in to the net along with the puck. You think he’d know what he signed up for by consistently choosing to play goalie against Gosalyn.

“Gosalyn,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said, or—perhaps more accurately—sighed. “I’m sorry you missed your shot, but you have a visitor.”

One of the older boys snickered. “A visitor? For Snotlyn? Yeah, right, she has no friends.”

Gosalyn growled, but Mrs. Cavanaugh grabbed her by the hood of her jacket before Gosalyn could bring her hockey stick down on his head, proving why his statement about her having no friends was true. Gosalyn allowed herself to be led into Mrs. C’s office, where a tall ram in a nice suit and shiny shoes stood.

“Gosalyn, my dear, how you’ve grown!” The ram practically cooed. “Why, look at you, a fine young lady!”

Gosalyn arched an eyebrow. No one who knew her said that she was a fine young anything, and most definitely not a lady.

“Who are you?” She demanded, ignoring the reprimanding squeeze on her shoulder from Mrs. C.

“Gosalyn, this is a friend of your grandfather’s, Mr. Ramsbottom.” Mrs. C explained.

“Not surprised you don’t remember me,” Mr. Ramsbottom said. “Haven’t seen you since you were a little tyke. Here.”

The ram handed Gosalyn a picture, featuring herself being held by her grandfather when she was about four or five, his current invention in the background. Well, his last invention, actually. The last one he finished. The ram pointed to something in the photo behind her grandfather and said, “See, there I am.”

Gosalyn frowned as she studied the image. “Looks more like a grape jelly stain to me.”

But she put the picture into the pocket of her jacket before the ram could take it back. She didn’t have many photos of her and her grandfather left. She’d take what she could get.

“Gosalyn,” Mrs. C said. “How about you show Mr. Ramsbottom around the front yard?”

Gosalyn nodded and led the way out of the room. The front yard was gated, but allowed for privacy with visitors while still giving the adult caretakers a way to keep an eye on their charges. On the way there, Gosalyn tossed her hockey puck in her hand aimlessly, needing to fidget with her hands. She was curious about this man who knew her grandfather, but uneasy. After all, he was a stranger. And why had he decided to come visit her?

“So. This is the front yard,” Gosalyn said, walking towards one of the benches that lined the walkway up to the orphanage front steps. She went for one of the benches close to the building, but the ram kept walking further down the path and she had to rush to keep up. “It’s kind of small, but nice.”

“It is nice,” The ram said, finally seating himself on the bench closest to the open gates, patting a spot beside him. Gosalyn hesitated, but sat down next to him. “You poor dear, it must be so hard to be here.”

“It’s not too bad,” Gosalyn mumbled. “I mean, I haven’t been here for too long, compared to some of the kids. The girls in the ward are kind of nice. The boys aren’t too bad, even though they were really stupid when I first got here and said that girls can’t play hockey or soccer. Then I kicked their butts and it was fine.”

“Hockey, huh?” The ram said, holding his hand out for the puck in Gosalyn’s hand. She passed it to him and he studied it. “Your grandfather taught you to play?”

“Yeah,” Gosalyn confirmed, fondly remembering the games they would play in the living room with a rolled up sock. “Is that how you knew Grandpa? You played hockey together in college?”

Ramsbottom frowned at her slightly. “How do you know we weren’t work colleagues?”

Gosalyn shrugged, biting back the comment that she personally didn’t think he was smart enough. Instead, she held out her hand for the puck. He reached to do so, but then it slipped out of his hand, rolling on the ground, just outside of the gate.

“Oops, clumsy me,” Ramsbottom said. “Always was a butterfingers…”

“It’s okay,” Gosalyn said, getting up to grab the puck. “I’ve got—”

Her words were cut off as strong arms snatched her, making her drop her hockey stick. She started kicking and screaming, “HEY, LET ME GO!”

“How about we go for a little ride to continue our chat?” Mr. Ramsbottom said, grinning eerily as another large man opened up the back of a truck.

With a yell, Gosalyn kicked one of her assailants hard, then bit the arm of the one holding her, who released her with a howl. The entrance to the orphanage blocked, she started to run down the street.

She screamed again when another strong arm scooped her up, putting her on top of a motorcycle.

Gosalyn spared a glance at this assailant. While the others wore suits, this one wore a blue turtleneck underneath a purple coat with gleaming brass buttons, an oversized gray fedora, a purple mask and a cape flowing behind him.

The duck grinned at her and said, “Never fear, little miss, Darkwing Duck—”

She cut him off with a punch in the gut and a fist under his beak. Somehow, he managed to keep the motorcycle going straight despite her assault.

“Hey, I’m trying to rescue you!” He yelled, though his voice was a bit strained with pain. “I’m not one of the bad guys!”

“You’re a creep in a mask!” Gosalyn yelled back. “Bad guys wear masks!”

However, she let out a yelp at the sound of gunfire behind them and a truck, with Mr. Ramsbottom leaning out the window, gun in hand. Instinctively, she clung to the duck on the motorcycle.

“I hope this changes your opinion of me,” The duck—Darkwing, he said?—said, lowering her into a sidecar before revving the engine of the motorcycle. “Hold on!”

“Where’s the helmets?” She yelled at him over the sound of the engine and gunfire.

“Don’t have any!” Darkwing yelled back.

“Not wearing a helmet while riding a motorcycle is a stupid way to die!” Gosalyn yelled at him.

“Duly noted, but don’t worry, we’re not dying today!” Darkwing told her, turning a corner sharply.

Gosalyn screamed and ducked down into the sidecar.

“Are you sure about that?” She yelled at him.

“Yes, now keep quiet!” Darkwing told her. Before she could mouth off, she figured out why he told her to do that. Darkwing swung the bike into a small space of an alleyway behind a large dumpster and killed the engine, pressing a finger to his lips. The truck with her would-be-kidnappers drove past.

Gosalyn took a deep breath and looked up at the fedora-wearing duck again.

If those guys were trying to kidnap her, then what did he want with her?

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Darkwing climbed off the bike. Or tried to, at least, tripping over the sidecar with Gosalyn and landing in a heap on the filthy cement. He leapt to his feet immediately, though, brushing off his jacket and said, “Come on, we need to walk from here.”

“Walk to where?” Gosalyn demanded. “And why should I come with you?”

“You should come with me because I know a place that those guys won’t find you—and, believe me, they’re going to turn over every inch of St. Canard to try,” He told her, pulling out a large, dirty sheet from a bag. “Don’t worry, it’s a short walk. Well. Short-ish.”

Gosalyn considered her options. This guy did rescue her, and despite her comment about him being a creep in a mask he didn’t seem as bad as Ramsbottom and the rest. At least he hadn’t shot a gun at her or tried to put her in the back of a windowless van. And she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get back to the orphanage safely…

With a sigh, Gosalyn climbed out of the sidecar with a lot more grace. Darkwing covered the motorcycle with the sheet, then made a ‘come on’ gesture before heading down the alley. Gosalyn followed Darkwing closely as he went to a door in the alleyway, prying off rotting boards and pushing open the door, which creaked. He took out a flashlight, clicked it on, and said, “You’re the third living person to know of this place’s existence.”

“Your hide-out?” Gosalyn asked, glancing around the dark.

“Yeah. Once was,” Darkwing said, leading her down a tunnel.

“So, who are you exactly?” Gosalyn asked.

Darkwing grinned, glad she asked.

He turned dramatically, cape fluttering.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the catchy pop song that won’t stop playing in your head! I am… _Darkwing Duck_!”

He looked at Gosalyn, hoping for a look of awe or at least be a little impressed. Intrigued, even.

Instead, she laughed.

“You were a theater kid, weren’t you?” She asked.

Darkwing deflated some. “Well, uh, yes, I was. But now I am… _Darkwing Duck_!”

“So you’re a grown-up theater kid.”

“Yes. And a superhero.”

“The most over-dramatic superhero I’ve ever met.”

“Hey, how many superheroes have you met?” Darkwing demanded.

“You’re the first. But I don’t think any of the others can top you in theatrics,” Gosalyn said, still laughing. “But your costume game is A-plus!”

Darkwing humphed slightly, then continued to lead her down a staircase, then along another tunnel, then up a staircase.

“What is this place, then?” Gosalyn asked as they went up the stairs.

“Little bit of history for you, kiddo,” Darkwing said. “You know that guy there’s a statue of in front of City Hall?”

“Mayor Swansong, the founder of St. Canard?” Gosalyn said, her brow furrowing. “Yeah. Went on a field trip to city hall last year. They talked about how he built the bridge across the bay. That it provided jobs for people from Duckburg and a new place to live.”

“Yeah, well, Mayor Swansong had something extra built in to the bridge. An apartment in one of the towers on the bridge, and a tunnel that leads to them.”

“Then why have the entrance be in an alley? Or was that where the mayor’s house once was and it was a super-special place for parties? And why does no one know about it?” Gosalyn asked.

“It’s a piece of history the city covered up,” Darkwing explained. “Because Mayor Swansong wasn’t living in the apartment, nor was it a great place to entertain. It was a hideout for his criminal dealings.”

“What?” Gosalyn asked, surprised.

“Yeah. St. Canard was built out of Swansong’s pocket of pilfered profits, and to be his criminal empire under a neat and tidy appearance, which it has kept for over a hundred years.”

“But St. Canard is Callisota’s safest, most crime-free city,” Gosalyn said, frowning. “Mayor Mallard says so.”

Something about that made Darkwing’s beak twist

“Yeah, well, Mayor Mallard says a lot of things, and ninety percent of it is lies,” He stated flatly. “Anyways, after Swansong died, the new Mayor had the place locked up, lost to time and history. Pretended like Swansong never even looked at anyone mean before.”

“You know a lot about St. Canard, but aren’t you from Duckburg?” Gosalyn asked.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me?” Darkwing asked, looking excited momentarily.

“No. But the tags on our bike are from Duckburg.”

“Oh.” The masked duck sounded deflated.

“Sorry?” Gosalyn offered.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” He said in a way that things were most definitely not okay. “I’m just starting out as a superhero. And it’s a lot harder than you would think. But, forget that, because we’re here!”

He pushed open a door and they entered the apartment.

“Keen gear!” Gosalyn gasped, running to the window. “You can see for miles up here!” She looked back at him. “Seriously, how did you know about this place?”

“I live in Duckburg now, but I grew up here in St. Canard,” Darkwing said, flopping onto an ancient looking couch. “Found this place when I was about your age. Became my own secret fort. Bulba and his goons will never find you here.”

“Who?” Gosalyn asked, poking around at the old furniture and remnants of years past.

“Tarus Bulba,” Darkwing said, sitting up and stretching with a yawn. “Crime boss. Locked up in St. Canard Penitentiary, but still operating behind bars. He recently stole your grandpa’s last invention, and plans to use it. I found out that you’re the inventor’s granddaughter, and realized that Bulba might think that you have the code to make the machine work. Apparently, I was right about that.”

“Which machine?” Gosalyn asked, plopping onto the couch beside Darkwing.

“The Waddlemeyer Ramrod.”

Gosalyn frowned. “I don’t know anything about a code. I don’t even think I know what it is.”

“It’s a tachyon-specific device that disrupts gravitational bonds on a molecular level which allows manipulation on a macro scale,” Darkwing answered with another yawn.

Gosalyn stared at him. “So. What does it do?”

Darkwing sighed and took off his fedora, plopping it on a side table. “Your guess is as good as mine, kid. But if you don’t know the code, that’s fine. Means that Bulba will never know, and can’t do anything bad with it. Only problem is that Bulba doesn’t know that you don’t know, so you’re going to have to stick with me for a little while.”

“Awesome,” Gosalyn said, grinning as she snatched up Darkwing’s fedora and plopped it on her own head, where it proceeded to slip down to nearly her eyes. “It’s meatloaf night back at the orphanage and it’s always too dry and gross. I’m not even sure there is meat in it.”

Darkwing looked at her strangely. “You’re taking all this rather well. Other kids would probably be crying right now.”

Gosalyn shrugged. “It’s an adventure. Plus, how many kids can say that a real superhero personally protected them from his arch-enemy?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say Bulba is my arch-enemy, per se,” Darkwing admitted, tugging on his collar nervously. “Considering he didn’t know I existed until last night. Probably still doesn’t know I exist. Depends on what his goons told him.”

Gosalyn hopped off the couch and started looking around again. “Got anything to eat?”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t get a chance to go grocery shopping,” Darkwing said with another yawn.

Gosalyn, now poking through a large chest full of old toys, lifted her head. “You okay? You keep yawning.”

“I usually nap in the afternoon for a night of crime-fighting,” He explained. “That’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. More importantly, so will you.”

Darkwing grimaced, remembering that yesterday’s nap was rudely interrupted before it began, his manager at Starducks calling him in to replace a coworker’s shift.

Vigilantism does not pay the bills, kids.

Point was, he hadn’t slept in nearly two days. Not that the kid needed to know that.

He got up and went into the small kitchen. He knew he had some coffee in there, in an airtight container. It should still be good after nearly a decade, right?

“Oh, cool!” Gosalyn exclaimed from behind him as he rummaged through the cabinets. “What is this? An old-timey radio?”

Darkwing froze.

Oh no…

“Gosalyn, don’t touch—!” He called out, but it was too late.

Gosalyn had pressed the button.

Silver utensils went flying from their drawer, and Darkwing had barely enough time to spin her out of the way, receiving a plate the back of the head for his efforts.

“Whoa, what was that?” Gosalyn asked.

“Old obstacle course I set up when I was a teen,” Darkwing grunted, catching the bowl that came at him, turning it so as to shield Gosalyn from the incoming barrage of stale cereal.

Gosalyn grabbed a knife and managed to slash away two pieces of the oldest, driest, moldiest bread she had ever seen.

“Keen gear, this is fun!” She exclaimed. “Is it over?”

“I think so,” Darkwing said, panting slightly. “But I can’t help but feel like I’m forgetting…”

His eyes went wide.

“Oh no…” He said, accepting his fate as a cardboard container of milk smacked him in the face. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the milk carton to the face or the stench of sour milk that came from it.

“Are you okay?” Gosalyn asked, standing over where Darkwing lay on the floor.

“I always forget the milk…” He mumbled as he sat up. He sighed. He had forgotten that he had reset the obstacle course on his last day in St. Canard. He hadn’t expected it to be his last, though… “Let’s avoid the kitchen, shall we?”

Gosalyn let him lead her back to the main apartment. “Can we move the couch to the window? I wanna look out some more.”

Darkwing nodded. “Sure. The sun is starting to set. It’s a great view up here at sunset.”

They moved the couch and sat down together.

“So you grew up in St. Canard,” Gosalyn said as they watched the sky change colors.

“Yeah,” Darkwing said. “Left for Duckburg for college and didn’t look back once. Wouldn’t have even returned if it wasn’t in the name of being a hero.”

St. Canard was full of too many memories. The disappointed father who wished he had a more athletic son or, at least, a more ambitious son—not a theater kid who was never the star and a nerd who played with action figures from a kid’s cartoon. The socialite mother who was always looking for connections and perfection, who hated that her son wasn’t popular and always trying to set him up with daughters of her equally socialite and snooty friends, even though the few dates he agreed to were miserable and humiliating. The older brother who was their father’s perfect son in every way: star football player, class president, homecoming king, had a smile that screamed ‘vote for me’. The younger sister who was their mother’s mini-me in every way, who routinely asked him if he could possibly less of an embarrassment to her and her social life, pretending not to know him at high school when she was a freshman and he was a senior. With family like that, the playground bullies were almost the least of his concerns.

He was glad to leave it all behind—especially the yelling and the black-eye that came from the last conversation with his father. About how dare he shame the family, how dare he waste his time on something as useless as majoring in theater, how he wasn’t good enough, how he was embarrassing his parents by going through this phase of thinking he liked both boys and girls. His brother demanding to know why he just couldn’t do as he was told for once, his sister calling him a freak. His mother checking out of the conversation entirely, disappearing upstairs with a glass of wine and a magazine when the yelling began, the sound of the bathtub filling being a roaring background noise to the entire spectacle.

But Darkwing did what he did best: he got right back up. He refused to let his father’s anger and his mother’s expectations tie him down. He moved straight to Duckburg the next morning with all of his savings. Lived off of ramen and mac and cheese for years. Sure, he had dropped out of college within two years, and mostly worked at Starducks, doing community theater and small commercial gigs for used car dealerships until finally he got his big break…

Only for that to come crashing and burning down around him. Literally.

“You haven’t even visited to see your family?” Gosalyn asked.

“No reason to,” Darkwing said, staring at the orange and pink sky. “I have no desire to see them.”

He could practically feel Gosalyn simmering beside him. “So you just abandoned them? They’re not good enough for a hero?”

Darkwing sighed. “Gos, not all family is good family.”

“But at least you have one!”

That got Darkwing’s attention and he looked over at her, her arms crossed over her chest and pouting, her eyes watering some.

Darkwing’s shoulders slumped and guilt flooded him.

Gosalyn was an orphan. Truly alone in the world. Just like he was. Different circumstances, but just as alone.

Darkwing put his hand on her shoulder. “Gosalyn, sometimes you have to go find your family rather than just live with the one you’re given. It’s not always the healthiest thing.”

“Being alone isn’t healthy, either,” Gosalyn argued, pulling out a picture from her pocket. He saw that it was of a smaller Gosalyn being held by a man, both with big grins. Her grandfather, he realized. “Especially when all you have is memories.”

Darkwing gently put a hand on her knee, his heart aching for this little girl. She’s already gone through so much in her short life, even without Bulba after her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to share some of those memories? It helps keep them alive, especially when you have someone to share them with.”

Gosalyn was quiet, then she said, “My grandpa always sang me a lullaby. Every night before bed. Even when I was probably too big for lullabies, but I didn’t care. It was our thing.”

“A different lullaby every night or the same?” Darkwing asked.

“The same,” Gosalyn said. She looked up at him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

Darkwing nodded.

Gosalyn took a deep breath and began to sing.

“_Close your eyes, little girl blue, inside of you lies a rainbow. Yellow, blue, red, blue, purple too, then the yellow._”

Darkwing took notice of how she ended with a yawn, her eyes half-lidded. She was probably as exhausted as he was. He wrapped his cape around her and sang,

“_Rest your head, little girl blue. Come paint your dreams on your pillow. I’ll be near, to chase away fear. So sleep now and dream ‘til tomorrow. I’ll be near, to chase away fear. So sleep now and dream ‘til tomorrow…_”

The sound of Gosalyn’s soft breathing as she slumped against him made him smile. “Good night, Gosalyn.” He mumbled, his own eyes slipping closed.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he definitely remembered waking up to the sound of sirens and helicopters and bright lights outside the tower window.

“What’s going on?” Gosalyn asked, rubbing her eyes as Darkwing ran to the windows. Her sleepiness disappeared as she gasped at the large airship floating over the city.

“Attention citizens of St. Canard,” A loud, booming voice called out from over a speaker from the ship. “It is I, Tarus Bulba, Crime Lord of the So-Called Crimeless City. I have taken control of the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, with which I will use to destroy cities!

“However, I will give citizens one chance to end my reign of terror before it begins. At midnight tomorrow, I will give the so-called superhero Darkwing Duck an opportunity to capture me. I will even tell him where to find me: the Money Bin in Duckburg. If he can capture me, then I will surrender peacefully. And if not…”

Bulba laughed, low and cold.

“Then you will find out.”

There was the sound of bells, chiming midnight.

“Twenty-four hours, Darkwing Duck.” Bulba called out ominously. “Twenty. Four. Hours.”

Gosalyn looked up at Darkwing with wide eyes. “You’re not really going to do it, are you?”

Darkwing frowned at the sky. When he had fallen asleep, the sky was beautiful and peaceful. Now it was dark and terrifying. “What choice do I have?”

“Uh, I don’t know, how about not walk into a trap set up by Tarus Bulba?” Gosalyn demanded irritably, gesturing towards the airship.

Darkwing looked down at her. “I’ll figure that out later. Right now, we need to get back to the Ratcatcher. Come on.”

Gosalyn started to follow, then ran back to the toy chest and pulled out two objects. “Here,” She said, handing him one of the objects. “Because you’re useless if your brains are scrambled.”

Darkwing accepted the helmet, painted purple with a gold lightning bolt. She had one in her hands, red with a white stripe down the middle. “Good thinking, Gos.”

Darkwing and Gosalyn returned to the alleyway, his motorcycle miraculously still there. They put on the helmets and Gosalyn climbed into the sidecar, where Darkwing handed her a GPS.

“Here, I need you to be in charge of this,” He told her. “Put in this address.”

She carefully put it in as Darkwing told her the address. “Where are we going?” She asked as the map pulled up. “Your hide-out in Duckburg?”

“No,” Darkwing said, turning on to the road, heading across the bridge. “I’m going to take you to a friend. He’ll keep you safe.”

“Who is this friend?” Gosalyn asked, raising her voice over the sound of the engine and the wind.

“His name,” Darkwing said, as they started across the bridge. “Is Launchpad McQuack.”


	3. Chapter 3

Launchpad McQuack was in one of his favorite places outside of a pilot’s chair: in Mr. McD’s study, standing around a table with a map, Mr. McD’s eyes bright and his cane tapping multiple spots on the map. Around the table, standing on their toes, were Huey, Dewey, Louie and Webby, their tailfeathers swishing with excitement as they planned their next adventure.

Today, there were two additional people in the room. One of these people was Webby’s best friend and the mansion’s newest resident, Lena, who sat in the window seat on her phone. She wanted to listen to the planning, though she very clearly stated that she wasn’t going on any adventures. Having recently regained a corporeal form, the girl made of Magica De Spell’s shadow said that she had enough adventure and magic on any given day already without having to seek it out. Still, she knew how important adventuring was to Webby, and wanted to know where her friends would be.

The other person was the recently returned Della Duck, the triplets’ long-lost mother and a fellow pilot.

Her presence made Launchpad slightly uneasy. He liked Della well enough, even though their first meeting hadn’t gone well. Apparently, Della hadn’t liked that Mr. McD had found another pilot while she was living on the moon for ten years, thought to be dead. But she was a pretty nice person after that first encounter, and her boys and Mr. McD clearly loved her. She was smart, and brave, and funny, and was trying to make up for ten missing years with her kids. So he wasn’t sure why her being in the room made him uneasy.

Maybe it was because on the last international trip Mr. McD took, it wasn’t with Launchpad in the seat of the Sun Chaser.

No, it had been Della.

Sure, it had been for a boring meeting rather than a planned adventure (though, with the Duck family, just going to the grocery store involved unexpected side-quests), and he was here now, planning for an adventure now, so all should be good, right?

“—stop to refuel the Sun Chaser here,” Scrooge McDuck was saying, pointing with his cane.

“Cloud Slayer,” Della interjected, earning her a sour look from her uncle.

“Sun Chaser,” He stated flatly.

“C’mon, Uncle Scrooge, you gotta admit Cloud Slayer is a way cooler name.”

“My plane is called the Sun Chaser, and that is final,” Scrooge said sharply.

“Can’t I call it Cloud Slayer when I’m flying it?” Della asked.

Scrooge straightened slightly and moved his cane back to the floor. “Well, then, we should ask Launchpad here what the plane should be called on this journey. Seein’ as he’s flying it.”

This sent relief coursing through Launchpad as he said, “I like Sun Chaser. Not that Cloud Slayer isn’t cool, it really is, but—”

“I’m sorry, what?” Della interrupted, staring at her uncle. She pointed at herself. “I’m not flying?”

“Not this time,” Scrooge said, turning his attention back to the map, not noticing Della’s angry expression or the glance that the triplets and Webby shared, or even that Lena had looked up from her phone with wide-eyes. “Now, as I was saying—”

“You were saying that you were _replacing_ me.” Della snapped.

Launchpad cleared his throat. “Uh, Mr. McD, I don’t mind if Della flies this time.”

“Well, I do,” Scrooge said irritably. “And I’m not replacin’ you, Della.”

“Really? Because it sure sounds like it,” Della snapped again, folding her arms over her chest.

Della and Scrooge stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving nor blinking.

“Huey. Dewey. Louie. Webbigail. Lena. You are all dismissed,” Scrooge said, his voice the scary kind of angry that Launchpad hated, because Mr. McD’s voice was completely calm. “We will resume this planning session this afternoon.”

The kids quickly filed out and Launchpad went to join them, but stopped when Scrooge said, “Launchpad, I want you to stay.”

As the door to the study closed, the kids silently staring at him with looks of pity and silent promises to rescue him, though Dewey sank to his knees and his expression was one of watching a brother-in-arms fall on the field of battle.

Launchpad turned around and took a deep breath, enjoying the last moment of calm before he was caught in the crossfire of the infamous tempers of Scrooge McDuck and Della Duck.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Darkwing Duck and Gosalyn blinked as they stared up at the gate. Something flew past the iron-gates decorated with ornate dollar signs.

“Was… that a peacock?” Gosalyn asked.

“I think so?” Darkwing said. “Gosalyn, are you sure that address was put in right?”

Gosalyn looked at the GPS in her lap. “Um, yes? Your friend lives here?”

When Darkwing Duck first met Launchpad McQuack, he knew that Launchpad worked for Scrooge McDuck. But he hadn’t realized when Launchpad gave him address and phone number what exactly that entailed.

Including potentially living in the famous McDuck Manor.

“Let’s find out,” Darkwing said, pressing the buzzer.

“Yes?” Came a crisp, British female voice.

“Uh, hi?” Darkwing said awkwardly.

“Sir, are you aware that it is not Halloween?”

Darkwing scowled at that and resisted the urge to look around for the camera. “Yes, I am aware. I’m a friend of Launchpad’s? Launchpad McQuack? Is he home? Uh, do I even have the right address?”

There was silence, then the gate opened. “Please proceed up the drive,” The woman instructed.

“Thanks,” Darkwing said, putting on the gas and driving up to the manor proper.

“Keen gear…” Gosalyn whispered as she took off her helmet. “This place is amazing!”

“And we haven’t even been inside yet,” Darkwing said, climbing the stairs. He pressed the doorbell, glancing over his shoulder as Gosalyn ran to one side of the staircase then the other, completely in awe of the manor grounds.

The door opened and Darkwing looked down at the duckling in the green hoodie who opened the door. He remembered this duckling, he had met him at Jim Starling’s signing. The kid was friends with Launchpad. He even knew his name, because Launchpad talked about him a lot. They were best buds, apparently.

“Hello, Dewey,” He greeted.

“Nope,” The duckling said, tucking a hand into the front pocket of his hoodie. “You get two more guesses.”

Darkwing blinked. “What?”

The duckling pulled the door open. “Come on in.”

Darkwing ushered Gosalyn inside, her eyes wide as she took in the front hall. Darkwing glanced at the duckling. “I’m really sorry, but every time Launchpad talks about you, he’s said your name is Dewey. So I’m a little confused.”

“That’s because you’re talking to the wrong duck,” The duckling said simply.

Before Darkwing could ask what that meant, he heard a loud gasp and a young female voice scream: “NEW FRIEND!”

Immediately, a little girl was bouncing on her toes right in front of Gosalyn, who took a step backwards—onto Darkwing’s foot, because _of course_—and her eyes went a bit wide.

“Hi, I’m Webby, what’s your name?” The girl asked.

“Um, Gosalyn?” Gosalyn said, glancing up at Darkwing nervously, who put his hands on her shoulders protectively.

“Webby, down girl,” A taller girl said, grabbing hold of the back of Webby’s shirt. “She’s barely made it past the front door.”

“Sorry, my friend-senses were tingling!” The girl—Webby—squealed slightly, wiggling her fingers, her eyes still shining. To Gosalyn, she whispered, “It’s my own personal superpower!”

Gosalyn perked up at that. “Did you get bit by a radioactive friend to get those senses? Or were you born with them?”

“Born with them and expertly honed them over the years!” Webby declared proudly. “I know a friend when I see one!”

Gosalyn grinned and stuck out her hand for Webby. “Gosalyn Waddlemeyer, new friend.”

Another duckling, dressed in a red t-shirt with a matching hat, looked up at Darkwing and said, “Sweet costume, mister. Are you LARPing? What’s your character’s name?”

“Am I… what now?” Darkwing asked. Wait, why did this duckling look like the one in the hoodie?

A duckling in a blue shirt ran down the stairs. Wait. This kid was wearing the same shirt the first time he met him. This had to be Dewey. Then who were the other two?

Wait.

“Triplets?” Darkwing muttered in surprise, glancing back and forth between the three ducklings.

“Guys, it’s really getting bad in there, we need to start Operation—” Dewey said, then he paused and looked up at Darkwing, recognition in his face. “Oh, hey, DW!”

“You know this guy?” The one in the hoodie asked, giving Darkwing some serious side-eye.

“Yeah, he’s a friend of Launchpad’s,” Dewey said, nodding.

The one in the red shirt and hat gasped. “Launchpad is part of a LARP group! I wanna join!” He then grabbed hold of Darkwing’s cape. “Please, can I join? Please don’t say its adults only… I swear, I’m mature for my age!”

“I’m not… LARPing.” Darkwing said, trying to reclaim his cape from the kid’s fingers. “I’m a superhero.”

“Like Gizmoduck?” Webby asked.

Darkwing scowled and narrowed his eyes at the girl. “_Better_ than Gizmoduck.”

“Then how come we haven’t heard of you?” The duckling in the green hoodie asked.

Darkwing growled slightly then said, “Look, I really need to see Launchpad. Right now. It’s an emergency. Hero business.”

The four shorter kids exchanged nervous glances and the taller girl, who was tapping away on a cellphone, spoke up from where she was leaning against the banister at the foot of the stairs. “Yeah, Launchpad’s trapped in a meeting with Uncle Scrooge. And by ‘meeting’, I totally mean he’s trapped in the middle of yet another yelling match between Scrooge and Della. Third one this week, actually.”

“Oh,” Darkwing said, wincing slightly on behalf of his friend. “Uh, well, then we’ll just wait till that’s done. Don’t want to interrupt…”

“NO!” The three boys and Webby grabbed hold of his costume, sending Darkwing teetering backwards with surprise.

“Please go interrupt!” The kid in red demanded.

“Yeah, it’s getting really bad up there,” Dewey said.

“Look, kids, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Darkwing said, trying to pry hands off of him.

That was when loud, angry voices started to carry down into the hall, one female and one, well, Scottish.

“—CANNAE JUST WALTZ IN AND ACT LIKE NOTHING’S CHANGED, DELLA!”

“ONLY YOUR STANDARDS FOR A PILOT HAVE CHANGED, OLD MAN!”

“YES, AND THAT INCLUDES THE STANDARD OF HAVING A PILOT WHO DOESN’T STEAL ME PLANE THE MOMENT ME BACK IS TURNED!”

“AND APPARENTLY FAMILY DOESN’T MEET YOUR STANDARDS ANYMORE!”

“LAUNCHPAD IS FAMILY! HE’S BEEN MORE FAMILY TAE ME, TAE YOUR SONS, THAN YOU HAVE THE LAST TEN YEARS!”

At the top of the stairs, a woman stood, looking rather unimpressed with the sight and said in her British accent, “I have dutifully served this household in many ways throughout the years. I have been in many dangerous situations in performing my duties. However, I will not go in that room to announce a visitor at this time.” She narrowed her eyes. “If it is Launchpad you wish to speak to, then you will have to go in there yourself and rescue him.”

Darkwing gulped and found himself being pulled up the stairs and led to two large double doors.

“If you’re a hero, please face the scariest thing ever on behalf of some poor little kids,” The kid in red said, his fingers interlaced in a prayer. “A Duck family fight.”

Well. If it was a hero they needed, then it was a hero they’d get.

Darkwing took a deep breath and kicked open the doors.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am—” He declared as he stepped in to the room dramatically, but quickly lost his bravado when he saw two pairs of angry eyes glaring at him and one pair of relieved eyes looking actually glad to see him, albeit confused. He gulped under the heat of the glare of Scrooge McDuck and the woman across from him. He took a few steps back. “I am, uh, clearly interrupting something. I’ll come back later.”

“You will not!” Scrooge McDuck snapped, pointing his cane at Darkwing. “And just who the blazes are you?”

“Dra—” Launchpad started to say, but Darkwing gave him a sharp look and he clamped his mouth shut.

“I,” The caped stranger said, feeling emboldened enough to take a step into the room. “Am _Darkwing Duck_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you're a fan of Della, I apologize. She's not exactly my favorite character, but I think she has one of the biggest potentials for personal growth as she readjusts to life on Earth, figures out how to be a mom, etc. and I'm kind of using her in this story to reflect that, as well as address some issues that Della's presence brings for the fam, specifically Launchpad.
> 
> And Scrooge did have a reason for wanting Launchpad as part of that conversation before it totally derailed, and not just as someone to prevent him from strangling Della.


	4. Chapter 4

Introductions were made, and—due to the clearly audible rumbling of Darkwing and Gosalyn’s stomachs—the situation was explained over a late breakfast in the large dining room of McDuck Manor. And so pancakes, fruit, and bacon prepared by Mrs. Beakley were consumed as Darkwing told the story, with interjections from Gosalyn.

Scrooge recognized the name of Waddlemeyer immediately, but not for the reason Darkwing expected. Scrooge didn’t seem at all concerned about the Waddlemeyer Ramrod. Instead, he gazed sadly at Gosalyn and said, “I worked with your grandfather a time or two, lass. He was a good man. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Gosalyn looked sad and mumbled a thank you.

Scrooge pushed back from the table and went to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Gosalyn, I promise I’ll do everything to keep you safe so long as you are in my house.” He then lifted his gaze to Darkwing, seated beside Gosalyn. “And do everything within my power to help you take down Taurus Bulba.”

“I can’t see innocent citizens be put in danger when it’s my job to protect them,” Darkwing argued.

“Well, lucky for you, boyo, I’m not an innocent citizen in the slightest,” Scrooge McDuck said, grinning in a way that made Darkwing suddenly glad that the Scottish billionaire was on his side and not a supervillain. “If everyone is done eating, then it’s back up to my study. We’ve got a con to catch, an invention to reclaim, and a time crunch. Adventure is coming to Duckburg!”

“With all due respect, sir, I can handle this,” Darkwing said as Scrooge led the way out of the dining room, jogging slightly to catch up with Scrooge, who walked fast despite his short stature and advanced age.

“And with all due respect, lad, it sounds like this Bulba fellow is setting you up for a trap,” Scrooge responded as he ascended the stairs.

“That’s what I said!” Gosalyn said as she took the stairs two at a time to keep up with Darkwing.

“Take them one at a time, or you’re going to trip,” Darkwing chided her.

Gosalyn jumped up three stairs and stuck her tongue out at him in a ‘so-there’ fashion. Darkwing rolled his eyes.

“The point is, you came here for help,” Scrooge said. “You were smart to come to Launchpad. He’s the best you can get when you need a friend. Kind, loyal, and comes up with some pretty genius solutions on the fly. Er, pun unintended. Any friend of Launchpad’s is a friend of Scrooge McDuck.”

“Aw, thanks, Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, smiling brightly at the praise.

“Don’t thank me for speakin’ the truth,” Scrooge said. To Darkwing, he said, “But you’re gonna need more help than that, lad. That’s where I come in.”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Huey said as he pushed open the study doors. “Gizmoduck will save the day!” 

Darkwing let out a low growl at this.

Darkwing was pretty sure he liked this kid better when he was only talking about LARPing…

Whatever the heck that was.

“I believe this can be done without Gizmoduck,” Darkwing argued, folding his arms over his chest. “After all, I’ve been doing a great job of protecting Duckburg these last few days, Gizmoduck nowhere to be seen.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you also lose a military grade weapon to a crime boss just two days ago?” Louie asked, hopping up onto the table in the middle of the room. “A crime boss who was, you know, _in prison_ at the time?”

Darkwing was pretty sure he liked this kid better when he thought he was someone else…

Seriously, he had _not_ become a superhero to be insulted by children.

“Where is Gizmoduck anyways?” Gosalyn asked, hopping up into a spinning chair and going around in circles.

“Hopefully he’ll be here soon,” Scrooge answered. “Dewey, lad, track a flight for me. Migration Airlines Flight Number Nine Eighty-Seven. Should be over the Pacific right now.”

Dewey was typing this into a fight tracking website and he frowned. “Uh, Uncle Scrooge? Is this supposed to be coming from Tokyo?”

“Yes,” Scrooge confirmed, looking at his map.

“Okay, because it hasn’t left Tokyo.”

Scrooge lifted his head and whirled around. “Whatdya mean it hasn’t left Tokyo? It should have left hours ago!” He pointed his cane at Huey. “Huey, get Fenton on the line. Now.”

“Who is Fenton and why is he important?” Gosalyn asked, still spinning in the chair.

“Gizmoduck,” Came the chorused answer from the kids, Scrooge and Launchpad.

Darkwing frowned and uncrossed his arms, putting his hands on his hips. Sure, he didn’t necessarily like Gizmoduck but, seriously?

“You know, I’m kind of new to this whole superhero business but it’s kind of rude and a faux pas to know a superhero’s secret identity and tell other people about it.” Darkwing said.

“In this case, not really,” Louie said with a shrug.

“Yeah, pretty much half of Duckburg knows Gizmoduck’s secret identity!” Webby said, nodding.

“The most prominent exception being his mother, and for his sake we’re going to try to keep it that way,” Scrooge said, nodding sagely.

“Hey, Fenton texted, says he can video chat!” Huey said. Dewey passed over the laptop and Huey opened up a video chat.

The screen went black then there was the image of a brown duck on screen, with what was clearly an airport in the background. There was also some loud, angry voices in a language that was most definitely not English.

Darkwing blinked.

Wait, this duck looked familiar…

Wait.

This was Gizmoduck???

Okay, he owed his fellow barista, Tom, an apology for calling him crazy every time this duck came in and Tom always frantically whispered to him that this duck who always—without fail—spilled something on himself or broke something was Gizmoduck.

“Hi, everyone!” The duck said sheepishly with a wave. “So. As you can see, we are not headed back to Duckburg. Our flight got canceled. Dr. Gearloose…” The yelling became louder. “Well, uh, Dr. Gearloose is not having much luck with getting us another flight. Storms are all over the Pacific and all flights are grounded. But the conference we attended was very enlightening and we have a lot of notes and—”

“So you’re definitely not getting back to Duckburg by midnight our time, then,” Dewey interrupted.

“Nope,” The duck answered. He tilted his head, noticing Darkwing for the first time. “Who’s that? Oh, wait, don’t tell me. Huey, you finally found a LARP group! When do they meet and are they interested in having a wizard join?”

“There is no LARPing!” Darkwing yelled, frustrated and resisting the urge to whip out his phone and search the stupid term just to finally figure out what it meant. “We’re trying to stop a criminal mastermind!”

“Yeah, and we need Gizmoduck!” Webby interjected, practically leaping in front of the computer.

“Fenton, is there really no way you can get back here before midnight?” Huey asked. “What about the suit?”

The duck—Fenton—sighed and rubbed his forehead. “No. I have no idea if it’d have the power to go that far, and definitely don’t think it’d go faster than a jet. Plus, there’s the fact that the suit is in my room at home. Do you know how hard that’d be to get through customs?”

“I’ve fought enough battles with customs, I understand,” Scrooge said, nodding vaguely.

“Really? What’d you try to bring in?” Gosalyn asked eagerly.

“Oh, you know, mostly dangerous magical artifacts and the like,” Scrooge said with a shrug.

“Keen gear!” Gosalyn exclaimed, sending her chair spinning once more.

“That’s kind of frowned upon, you know, taking artifacts from their country of origin…” Darkwing said, but was ignored.

“What exactly is important about midnight, anyway?” Fenton asked, directing the conversation back to the nature of the call.

“A crime boss from St. Canard named Taurus Bulba stole this weapon,” Darkwing explained. “He’s threatening to use it, most likely on both St. Canard and Duckburg.”

Fenton’s brows furrowed. “There’s crime bosses in St. Canard? But it’s Callisota’s only crime free city… It says so on their sign.”

“Well, the sign is going to be given an upgrade if I don’t stop Bulba,” Darkwing snapped.

“But it’s kind of a moot point, isn’t it?” Gosalyn asked, stopping her chair from spinning. She leaned forward, her hands on the chair between her legs. “Bulba doesn’t have the code. I don’t have the code. What is he going to do when he realizes he stole a piece of junk that he can’t use to do evil?”

“Well, if people don’t know that it doesn’t work, he could still threaten them with the ol’ Waddlemeyer Ramrod to get what he wants,” Launchpad suggested.

Suddenly, the angry Japanese yelling in the back stopped and Fenton had the phone snatched from his hand and was practically shoved away from the screen as a tall, white chicken in a yellow hat took his place.

“Did you say the Waddlemeyer Ramrod?” The chicken demanded. “You mean the same Waddlemeyer Ramrod that was supposed to arrive at my lab yesterday morning with a full military escort?”

“Gyro Gearloose, I presume?” Darkwing asked.

“Presume whatever you want, you caped clown, answer my question.” The inventor demanded.

“No. It did not arrive. Taurus Bulba stole it.” Darkwing answered through gritted teeth, not appreciating the insult. “But, like Gosalyn said, it doesn’t matter. Bulba doesn’t know the code, Gosalyn doesn’t know the code, you haven’t even gotten a chance to reverse engineer the thing or whatever it is you do. No one knows the code to make it work.”

Gyro took a deep breath, but didn’t look any calmer for it as he said, “Do you have any idea what the Waddlemeyer Ramrod does?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Darkwing said, puffing his chest up some. “It’s a tachyon-specific device that disrupts gravitational bonds on a molecular level which allows manipulation on a macro scale.”

That’d show him who was a caped clown.

Gyro did not look impressed. Through gritted teeth, he said, “And do you _know_ what that _does_?”

Darkwing shrank back some. “Uh… no. No, I do not.”

“Let me dumb it down enough for you to understand, then,” Gyro snapped. “It makes things lift. It takes away gravitational forces to do so. But on a large scale. It won’t work on anything small, like people or useless trinkets. I’m talking buildings and planes and ships. That means that, in the hands of the likes of Bulba, on the even slightest chance that he could make it work, the damage he could wreak is catastrophic!”

“What would this Bulba guy even want to do with taking away gravity for large things?” Lena asked. “It’d make it hard for him to disappear and get away from the cops, wouldn’t it? Kind of the opposite thing a guy who just escaped from prison would want to do.”

“Then he wants something badly enough to take that risk,” Mrs. Beakley stated. “Or utilizes the Ramrod in a way so that no one dares go against him.”

“He could disrupt the gravity between the earth and the moon,” Huey suggested.

“He could rob banks by literally stealing the bank,” Webby threw out.

Darkwing thought for a moment, then it hit him. “Or he could move an entire island.”

“St. Canard?” Gosalyn asked, sounding concerned.

“Not the one I was thinking of,” Darkwing said, turning to Scrooge McDuck. “Bulba wants me to meet him at the Money Bin. He must be planning on stealing the entire island.”

“You know, many people have plotted to rob me Money Bin,” Scrooge said, frowning. “But I reckon this would be the first time someone’s tried to steal the entire island out from under me.”

“Forget the stupid Money Bin!” Gyro yelled, shaking the phone he was holding some, now clearly angry and panicking. “My lab is underneath that island! My work, my research, my inventions…”

“That are very likely to choose to become evil without any outside influence…” Fenton added, poking his head in from behind Gyro’s shoulder, and Gyro put his hand on Fenton’s face and shoved him away irritably.

Gyro pointed at Darkwing through the screen. “Look here, you masked moron, if so much as one beaker is out of place in my lab, so help me—” Gyro cut himself off and stormed away. The image on the computer screen spun as Gyro tossed the phone over his shoulder and Fenton haphazardly caught it, though nearly dropped it a few times himself. In the background, they could hear Gyro yelling, “Fine! Can’t go over the Pacific, huh? We’ll just go across all of Asia and Europe and the flapping Atlantic!”

“Uh, hopefully we’ll see you all soon, good-bye and good luck whoever you are!” Fenton said quickly, glancing over his shoulder at Gyro.

“My name is Darkwing—” Darkwing yelled, but pouted slightly and slumped his shoulders as the screen went dark. “Duck.” He groaned, then started to pace, arms behind his back, trying to think. “Look, there is absolutely no way that Bulba can use the Ramrod. He doesn’t have the code, we know this for a fact. None of his goons seem smart enough to figure it out, and the only person who could possibly figure it out is busy yelling like a maniac in an airport in Tokyo. Even if Bulba issued the challenge for tonight thinking that Dr. Gearloose could be captured and figure out the code by then, he clearly still does not have the code. He’s out of options.”

“But he doesn’t know that I don’t know the code,” Gosalyn said, mouth twisting to the side. “He doesn’t know he’s out of options.”

“But he does know that DW rescued Gosalyn from his men,” Launchpad pointed out, scratching his chin. “Maybe he thinks that Gos told DW. And that he can make DW tell him.”

“But there’s nothing to tell!” Darkwing exclaimed, starting to pace faster.

“Bulba doesn’t know that. And I imagine he won’t care,” Scrooge said, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Not about you, and not about Gosalyn. He might not even care if you show up or not. I know enough about Bulba to know that he doesn’t just have one plan to try to get into the Money Bin.”

Gosalyn frowned at him. “You don’t sound too worried about your Money Bin. Doesn’t it have, like, a lot of money in it?”

“Don’t you worry about that, lass,” Scrooge said, leaning back in his chair. “The Money Bin is secure.”

“Yeah, how many times have you said that now, Uncle Scrooge?” Louie asked. “’Cause Glomgold robbed you blind not even two months ago.”

Scrooge snarled and growled, “Don’t remind me…”

“What?” Della exclaimed, apparently just hearing about this for the first time. “How much did he get away with?”

“Eighty-seven cents,” Scrooge said bitterly, gazing off into the distance. “It was a dark day…”

“I’m sorry, but the day after when we held a fake funeral for you was _way_ darker,” Dewey said, folding his arms over his chest.

“You did what?” Della and Gosalyn asked at the same time, the former with concern and disbelief, the latter sounding excited and eager to hear this story.

“You faked Scrooge McDuck’s death? How? Poison? Stabbed?” Gosalyn asked enthusiastically.

“Ugh, no. We had to do the most boring way to fake a death,” Louie grumbled and then he used finger quotes as he said, “Natural causes…”

“Lame.” Gosalyn groaned. “It’s not worth faking a death if you can’t frame someone.”

“That’s what I said!” Louie said, throwing his hands in the air.

Darkwing, however, continued to pace, thinking.

“There has to be a solution,” He said out-loud. “A way to defeat Bulba. He thinks he has all the plans, thinks he has all the ways to win, thinks he has me all figured out. But we need some secret weapon, something he wouldn’t expect.”

“Actually, DW…” Launchpad said slowly. Darkwing paused in his pacing and looked at the pilot, who shrugged slightly and said, “I might have just the thing.”


	5. Chapter 5

The entire trip down to the garage, Launchpad seemed nervous and kept stealing glances at Darkwing for reasons that the Terror that Flaps in the Night couldn’t determine.

Finally, they arrived and Launchpad walked over to something long and covered with a large white sheet.

“Is this the secret weapon?” Gosalyn asked, practically bouncing on her toes at Darkwing’s side.

“Yep,” Launchpad, grabbing hold of the sheet and pulling it off.

Darkwing gasped in awe, unable to stop himself from rushing forward and touching the ship—the ship! Darkwing’s ship! From the television show!

“I call it… the Thunderquack!” Launchpad said grandly and melting Darkwing’s fanboy heart to hear the familiar name paired with the familiar sight from his childhood.

“I call it sensational!” Darkwing told him. He looked up at the pilot, grinning so wide his face hurt. “Really, LP, it’s brilliant. You built it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Launchpad admitted, looking a bit embarrassed as he scratched the back of his head. “It’s been a pet project for years.”

“And by yourself? Launchpad this is…” Darkwing trailed off, at a loss for words, because words were not enough. Even though he had the sudden urge to, he knew that even hugging the pilot wouldn’t be enough. He just… “I can’t believe it…”

“But can it fly?” Della asked, also coming over to inspect the aircraft.

“Almost,” Launchpad said, something in his tone suddenly almost… defensive. Darkwing didn’t like that for some reason. “It’s almost done.”

“Keen gear!” Gosalyn exclaimed from the pilot’s seat, completely beating anyone else to it. “Bulba has an airship, and now so does Darkwing Duck!”

“More importantly, Darkwing has two forms of air support,” Scrooge said. “The Sun Chaser and this Thunderquack here. We know he won’t suspect the latter, and we’ll hope he doesn’t expect the former.” Scrooge looked at Launchpad. “Can it be flying in time?”

“I think so,” Launchpad said. “I need some more parts. And probably some help.”

“Give Mrs. Beakley a list of the parts and we’ll have them here as soon as possible,” Scrooge said. To his niece, he said, “Della, I need you to help Launchpad.”

Della hesitated and removed her hand from the hull of the Thunderquack. “I don’t know if that is a good idea, Uncle Scrooge.”

“Mom, you rebuilt the Spear of Selene! At least twice! On your own! On the moon!” Dewey exclaimed, grabbing hold of the hem of his mother’s jacket. “You can definitely do this!”

“Yeah, Mom, with you and Launchpad working on this, it’ll be done in no time!” Huey added brightly.

“Hey, this is Launchpad’s project,” Louie interjected, frowning slightly. “Maybe he doesn’t _want_ help. From Mom or anyone else. And I know that he could do it on his own.”

Launchpad placed a large hand on Louie’s head, ruffling the duckling’s hair but also taking care to ensure that the hair was laying the same way when he moved his hand again. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, L-Man, but DW needs the Thunderquack tonight. I’ll take all the help I can get to make sure it’s done by then.”

Della sighed and nodded. “Alright. Where can I begin?”

“And how can I help?” Darkwing asked. After all, this was for his battle tonight. He’d do anything to help his friend.

“You mean, how can _we_ help?” Gosalyn said, climbing out of the Thunderquack and coming up to Darkwing’s side, gazing up at Launchpad, who gave her a grin.

“We’ll need help getting tools and parts over here quickly,” Launchpad said. “Let me make that list to give to Mrs. B, then I’ll show you what needs to be done.”

As Launchpad walked away to find pen and paper, Scrooge placed a hand on Louie’s shoulder. “Lad, how about you come with me to the Money Bin? We’re going to make sure that no employees are there tonight, and that the more… sensitive projects are removed from Gyro’s lab. Just in case.”

Louie nodded and followed his great-uncle out of the garage.

Meanwhile, Dewey suddenly tapped a finger to his chin. “Hmm, maybe the Thunderquack doesn’t have to be the only secret weapon.”

“Like magic? Or one of Uncle Scrooge’s treasures from the Other Bin?” Webby asked.

Lena frowned and tucked her hands into her armpits almost protectively. “Hey, sorry, no magic is coming from these hands tonight.”

“No, something else.” Dewey turned to Huey. “And, I think I might regret this, but… Huey. I think we’re going to need your Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.”

Huey grinned and pulled a book out from under his hat. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, brother mine…”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

There were three teams: the team working on the Thunderquack, the team that went to the Money Bin, and the team that worked on a secret project.

About mid-afternoon, however, they all gathered back in the garage for a late lunch. In addition to a platter of sandwiches, Mrs. Beakley also delivered the last of the parts for the Thunderquack.

“How was the Money Bin?” Darkwing asked Scrooge as Louie ran over to join the other kids, who were all seated on top of the hood and roof of the dented limo.

“Chaotic,” Scrooge admitted with a sigh as he grabbed a sandwich. “Trying hard not to alert Bulba about the evacuation there. Left it in Manny’s capable hands. Er, hooves. How is the progress on the Thunderquack?”

“Great, Mr. McD,” Launchpad said. “Almost done, thanks to DW, Gos, and Della helping out.”

Darkwing smiled and glanced over at Gosalyn, who was laughing with the triplets, Webby and Lena over something. She had grease smudged on her beak, but her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them in the day that they’d known each other. She and Launchpad had spent most of the morning hovering over the engine, Launchpad patiently telling her what everything did (though Darkwing wasn’t quite sure about some of the, uh, technical names and descriptions the pilot gave) and not seeming to mind when she touched things. He even showed her how to use tools and let her use them. She had asked about add-ons and other projects that they could do. She was really interested in a rocket-powered skateboard and they discussed things that they could do to add rockets to her hockey skates that wouldn’t melt the ice but made her even faster in a game.

Mostly, he was just glad that she wasn’t crying and traumatized over the whole experience. She had a lot of spirit, that was for sure. She was smart, and plucky, and adventurous, and seemed to have no fear, nor any sort of reservations about fighting anything that was even remotely bigger than she was.

He chuckled; he had a feeling that if Bulba’s plan had worked in the first place, she would have been back to the St. Canard orphanage by now, having annoyed her captors to no end.

The thought of Gosalyn at the St. Canard orphanage suddenly made Darkwing’s mood shift down a few notches.

As Mrs. B brought down sandwiches and the other kids started to eat as a group, Darkwing had sent her off to go have fun with her new friends, telling her that she didn’t want any part of the boring grown-up talk. Taxes and the best way to cook broccoli and what not. She had laughed, but hugged him round the middle before running over.

Darkwing could admit it. He had melted. A lot. In just a short amount of time, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

He was going to be sad to see her go when this was all over. When it was safe for her to go back to St. Canard.

_No child belongs in an orphanage,_ Darkwing thought. _But most definitely not Gosalyn._

But what could he do about it? He had a crappy apartment, and a job at Starducks that barely paid the bills, and a failed acting career, and he spent most of his nights running around in a cape and mask like a kid playing dress-up.

No, Gosalyn deserved much better. He’d have to make sure she found a good family.

He thought again of how she and Launchpad had also become really close in a matter of hours. Darkwing glanced around at Launchpad’s little family, all seated in Launchpad’s bachelor pad of garage apartment when they could be up in the grand dining room again. Granted, he had a feeling fear of Mrs. Beakley’s wrath of dirtying anything was the reason they were in the garage instead of in the mansion proper. But, still. It was… cozy. Lovely. Happy. Things families were supposed to be.

They were a good family.

Good enough for Gosalyn.

There was money for a good education and food, plenty of space to be a kid and play, plenty of kids her own age to play with and who liked her immediately, the promise of going adventuring with Scrooge McDuck himself, and so much love and support. With Scrooge’s money and influence, her adoption process would be quick and easy.

Yes. The McDuck-Duck family was more than good enough for Gosalyn. Perfect for her, even.

So why did that make his heart ache?

Darkwing turned back to the group he was seated with when Launchpad stood up and brushed crumbs off his jacket.

“I’m going back to work,” He said, gesturing with a thumb to the Thunderquack.

“I’m done, I’ll come help you.” Darkwing said, also getting up.

He soon found himself on his back on a creeper underneath the Thunderquack, Launchpad beside him on another creeper, Darkwing passing tools and parts to Launchpad.

“So, DW,” Launchpad said conversationally. “You and Gosalyn are getting along really well. She seems attached to you, that’s for sure.”

Darkwing scoffed slightly. “Yeah, well, it’s probably something like Stockholm syndrome. Trauma related, you know? Since I did rescue her and stuff.”

“Or she knows she’s safe with a real superhero,” Launchpad said, glancing over at Darkwing. “Pass me the wrench, will ya?”

Darkwing did so and said, “Please, LP, don’t flatter me. Gizmoduck wouldn’t be in this mess right now, that’s for sure. I don’t know why I thought I was cut out for this superhero thing.”

“Hey,” Launchpad said, a bit defensively. “I thought you were cut out for it. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think you’d be a good hero.”

“You’re the only one who does, LP,” Darkwing sighed.

“Again, not true.”

“Don’t say Gosalyn does. Because she doesn’t. And even if she does, it doesn’t matter because as soon as this is over, I’m packing her up and sending her back to St. Canard where she belongs.”

Launchpad paused in the middle of a turn of the wrench. He turned his head to look Darkwing in the eye. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“It’s the best. For her, for me… She’ll find a family, and I… I don’t know. Maybe I need to hang up the cape and fedora, let Darkwing Duck officially fade into obscurity.”

“You sound like you’ve already given up, like you’ve already lost the fight against Bulba.”

“I’m going to give it everything I have, LP, I swear,” Darkwing sighed. “But… Come on, I think you’re the only one who thinks I actually have a shot of winning. I don’t exactly have a great track-record. I should quit while I’m ahead.”

Launchpad was quiet for a moment, then turned his attention back to the part he was putting in. “What happened to that kid. The kid who loved _Darkwing Duck_, and kept getting right back up, no matter how many times he fell?”

Darkwing sighed. “He grew up and realized he can only fall so many times before he doesn’t have the strength anymore to get up. My acting career is down the tubes, I don’t have a college degree, I barely have a job—actually, I probably don’t have a job anymore since I never showed up for my shift this morning—this superhero thing doesn’t seem to be working out at all, and my own family wants nothing to do with me. Where am I supposed to find the strength to keep getting up?”

“Well,” Launchpad said in a quiet voice after a moment of thought. “You’ve got me. And Gos. And the boys and Webby and Lena and Mr. McD and Della, and I think Mrs. B likes you but I’m only like eighty percent sure? I don’t know, she’s hard to read. Point is, what you’ve got is a support system to get you to your feet when you’re out of strength and can’t do it on your own. Just because Darkwing Duck worked alone on TV, doesn’t mean this real-life Darkwing Duck has to.”

It wasn’t a fix. More like a band-aid over a gaping wound. But it was a start, and it made Darkwing feel a little less like the world was on his shoulders.

“Thanks, LP.” He whispered.

“Don’t mention it, DW,” Launchpad said. With a grunt, he finished tightening a piece. “That’s done. Tell you what, Della, Gos and I can finish this. You don’t look like you’ve slept in a while. Go take a nap or something, rest up for your big boss battle tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Darkwing asked.

“Positive,” Launchpad said, pushing himself out from underneath the Thunderquack. Darkwing let out a surprised yelp as Launchpad grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him out, too, then offered a hand to get him to his feet.

“I don’t think I need a nap, I’m perfectly fine,” Darkwing argued, dusting off his cape. “Besides, I want to keep on—”

His words were cut off as he tripped over a toolbox. He didn’t hit the ground, though.

Launchpad had reached out and caught him, keeping Darkwing up and on his feet.

Darkwing felt his face heat at both his clumsiness and being in the strong embrace of the taller, bulkier duck.

“On second thought…” He mumbled. “I, uh, probably am less likely to trip over things if I’ve slept for more than four hours.”

“Go,” Launchpad said, releasing him. “Mrs. B will point you to a guest room. We’ll keep it to a dull roar.”

“Thanks,” Darkwing said, walking up the stairs to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, laying across the guest room bed, a thought occurred to Darkwing.

He did need a support system, to help him get up when he fell.

But the support system would also be there to catch him when he fell.

He was just starting to doze off when he heard the sound of the doorknob turn and a squeak of the hinges and he was awake in a second, leaping off the bed and ready to attack.

“Thought you could sneak up on Darkwing Duck, did you?” Darkwing declared as he got into a fighting stance. Then, he blinked and relaxed. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah, you were most definitely a theater kid,” Gosalyn said, smirking slightly, her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

Darkwing rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, Gos, didn’t know it was you. What’s up?”

Gosalyn hopped up on to the bed and said, “You know, I know that it’s rude and a faux pas to reveal a superhero’s secret identity.”

“Yeah, well, from the sounds of it, some of us are better at hiding that secret identity compared to Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.” Darkwing said, sitting down beside her.

“So… Does that mean that no one knows who is under Darkwing’s mask?” Gosalyn asked, tilting her head up at him.

“No. No one.”

“Would you take it off for anyone?”

“Nope.”

“What about for me?” She asked, blinking her eyes up innocently at him.

“Nice try with those cute little ducky eyes, but no.” Darkwing said with a chuckle, ruffling her curly red hair.

“Well, what about Launchpad?” She asked, smoothing down her hair from where he had mused it. “You two seem really close.”

Darkwing hesitated. “Okay, I must make an amendment to an earlier statement. He is the only one who knows who is under Darkwing’s mask. But only because he was there when I took it up. Him, and only him.”

“What about the people in your found family?” Gosalyn persisted.

“Well, that implies that I’ve found that family.” Darkwing admitted. “I guess right now I just have a lot of friends. Like you, and Launchpad, and Mr. McDuck, and Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby and Lena and Della and Mrs. B.”

“Oh.” Gosalyn said softly, looking a bit disappointed for some reason. She swung her leg back and forth slightly, staring down at the scuffed toes of her sneakers. “Well, uh. I wanted to tell you… That I think I found mine. My family.”

Darkwing glanced down at his own feet. Of course. The McDuck-Duck family. He knew. He just knew…

They were good enough for Gosalyn. More than just good enough. They were perfect for her.

“That’s great, Gos,” Darkwing said, trying hard to not choke on the lump in his throat. “I’m happy for you. It looks like you’ll be very happy here. And I know Mr. McDuck will take good care of you, and now you’ll have sisters and brothers, too.”

Gosalyn was quiet for a moment, almost uncharacteristically so, and then she said, “But that’s not—”

Suddenly, a large, loud BOOM echoed through the mansion. Gosalyn screamed and Darkwing threw himself on top of her, pulling her to the ground as the glass in the windowpanes shattered and rained down on them.

When he was sure the danger had passed, Darkwing lifted himself off of Gosalyn, whose eyes were wide.

For the first time, she truly looked frightened.

And that made Darkwing angry.

“Stay here,” Darkwing ordered, snatching his fedora off of the post of the bed. “I’m going to see what’s going on. Stay here.”

With a swish of his cape, he ran out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Darkwing ran down to the front hall, throwing open the door, his eyes widening at the sight. There were several unfortunately familiar faces that were last seen in St. Canard.

Ramsbottom and his associates were standing on the front lawn, flanked by Beagle Boys, two large helicopters on the grass behind them.

Darkwing snarled. “What happened to your boss’s terms of surrender?”

Ramsbottom smirked and spread his hands. “Well, Dorkwing, we still have a couple of hours until then.”

Two Beagle Boys charged forward, and Darkwing leapt over them, using his feet to force the two beagles to collide heads. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he ducked a swipe from one of Bulba’s goons, but was barely standing straight when a punch hit him right in the beak, sending him flying backwards.

A Beagle Boy smirked above Darkwing, bringing a nail-studded baseball bat back in a swing. Darkwing cringed and waited for the blow—

“OI! GET OFF MY LAWN, YA DEADBEATS!”

The Beagle Boy hovering over Darkwing fell to the ground as he was hit over the head with a cane wielded by Scrooge McDuck.

It was in that moment that Darkwing fully registered that Scrooge McDuck was probably a crazy old man, but he was just grateful that all that crazy was on his side.

Darkwing got to his feet, and saw that he and Scrooge weren’t alone. There was Launchpad, and Della, and Mrs. B, and the kids—who were way too enthusiastic about doing battle with criminals, throwing water balloons full of various gross and sticky substances from trees and windows.

Well. At least Gosalyn was safe and staying right where—

A blur of green with a red, curly ponytail flew out of nowhere, striking a Beagle Boy right in the nose.

“HI-YA! EAT SNEAKER, DOG-BREATH!”

And… Gosalyn didn’t stay put.

He’d deal with that later.

“Go get in that tree with Webby and Dewey!” Darkwing ordered Gosalyn as he round-house kicked one of Bulba’s goons.

“No way, this is way more fun!” Gosalyn retorted as she dove between a goon’s legs and kicked him in the seat of the pants as he fruitlessly tried to grab her.

Darkwing frowned at that, but knew that with the extra support meant extra eyes on Gos.

So he focused all of his attention on Ramsbottom.

“What? The first round of kicking your little ducky tail didn’t teach you a lesson?” Ramsbottom demanded as he and Darkwing began to fight hand-to-hand, punching and weaving and dodging and kicking.

“First thing to know about Darkwing Duck,” Darkwing snapped. “I. Get. Back. Up!”

Darkwing smirked as he got in a good punch to Ramsbottom’s face, the ram falling to the ground with Darkwing standing over him triumphantly.

“Give up, Ramsbottom!” Darkwing said. “And maybe I’ll show—”

“DARKWING! HELP!”

Darkwing felt the blood drain from his face as he whirled around at the sound of Gosalyn’s screams.

“Gosalyn?” He whispered, horrified at what he saw, the small girl being held captive by one of Bulba’s goons, being carried onto a helicopter. “GOSALYN!”

He took off running, running as fast as he could, but he was too late.

The helicopter took off, Gosalyn’s scared face pressed against the glass, her small fists hammering away.

From behind him, even over the sound of the helicopter rotors, he heard Ramsbottom snicker.

“Looks like my boss has another prize for you, Dorkwing. Maybe. If the girl complies.”

Rage surged through Darkwing, rage so hot it wasn’t red but white.

With a cry of fury, he rounded on Ramsbottom. The ram looked surprised and terrified as Darkwing attacked him, tackling him to the ground and punching him in the face repeatedly, bloodying his nose and blacking his eyes. Darkwing felt the skin of his knuckles crack, his muscles burning with the intensity of his movements.

It wasn’t getting Gosalyn back, it wasn’t making sure she was safe.

But, boy, did it feel good.

He was so blinded by rage, he didn’t even hear someone come up from behind him.

It wasn’t until he was hit in the back of the head—hard, painfully hard—that his fists stopped moving.

Limply, he fell to the ground, his vision swimming and blackening.

The last thing he heard was Ramsbottom’s voice.

“See you at midnight. Darkwing Duck.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Darkwing came-to slowly, blinking and watching the world spin above him.

The first thing he noticed was that he was inside… somewhere. Not outside where the battle had been.

The second thing he noticed was Launchpad beside him.

“DW! Mrs. B, he’s waking up!”

Darkwing groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “What happened?” He mumbled.

“Careful now,” Mrs. Beakley said as she came over. “You’ve got a nasty bump.” She held up a finger. “Follow my finger with your eyes.”

Darkwing did so, blinking away the remnants of sleepiness. He winced slightly as a light was shined in his eyes by the housekeeper, who nodded.

“Good, no concussion. Though I imagine you have a nasty headache.” She said.

“Yeah…” Darkwing admitted, the pounding in his head now making itself more noticeable.

“Here,” Mrs. Beakley said, turning to Webby, who stood at her grandmother’s side holding a glass of water and two pills. Darkwing gratefully accepted both, grimacing after he drained the glass.

“Do you need more ice?” Launchpad asked, looking at Darkwing with concern.

“I—” Darkwing started to answer, then he froze, his own questions shocking him awake. “What happened? What time is it? Gosalyn?”

“You got hit on the head, and you’ve been out for several hours now,” Launchpad answered. “It’s ten P.M.”

“And Gosalyn?” Darkwing demanded.

Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley looked grim and Webby’s lower bill trembled, her eyes watering. The little duck ran from the room, Mrs. Beakley sighing and following her granddaughter.

Launchpad sat down on the couch beside Darkwing.

“We don’t know,” Launchpad answered somberly, placing his hand on Darkwing’s shoulder. “Mr. McD has been scouring the city. No sign of Gosalyn or Bulba.”

Darkwing reached up and grabbed his aching head, putting his head between his knees, resisting the urge to scream, to cry, to curse the world and everything and everyone in it.

He failed.

He failed Gosalyn.

He couldn’t keep her safe.

And, worst, valuable time has been wasted searching for her, because he got himself knocked out cold, because he left himself vulnerable.

“DW?”

Darkwing got off the couch—he was in Launchpad’s garage, he saw—and started to pace. He needed to think. He needed to plan. He needed to strategize. He needed…

Gosalyn.

Tears were streaming down his face as he wordlessly screamed and pounded his fists against the wall. He didn’t know how long he threw his tantrum for, just knew he felt more exhausted and defeated as he pressed his forehead to the cement, sniffling pathetically.

Useless. Worthless. Incompetent. A wanna-be. A loser. He was all these and more.

He was a failure.

He wasn’t a hero.

He couldn’t protect Gosalyn.

He…

He couldn’t pick himself off the ground from this one.

He couldn’t find the strength.

His strength was gone.

Literally. Physically. Metaphorically. Mentally. Emotionally.

Gosalyn…

Darkwing didn’t jolt at the feeling of the large hand on his shoulder.

“We’re going to find her, DW. I promise,” Launchpad told him, voice firm. There was a beat, and then Launchpad whispered,

“Drake?”

Darkwing turned his head towards Launchpad, his face determined and his eyes hard as he looked Darkwing in the eye.

“Get. Back. Up.” Launchpad said, putting emphasis on each word. “That’s what Darkwing Duck does. And that’s what Drake Mallard does. Now get. Back. Up.”

Get back up.

Get. Back. Up.

Darkwing sniffled and reached up to wipe his beak on his sleeve, telling himself to take deep breaths.

“Get. Back. Up.” He whispered to himself. “Get. Back. Up.”

He had to get back up.

For Gosalyn.

He pushed away from the wall.

“Get. Back. Up.” He whispered the mantra over and over. “Get. Back. Up.”

He felt his strength rise every time he repeated the phrase.

He remembered what Launchpad had said earlier, about how he needed a support system. People to help him to his feet when he didn’t have the strength to get up.

This was it. This was that moment.

“Get. Back. UP!” Darkwing Duck yelled the last word, letting it echo through the garage.

Something caught the corner of his eye, hidden in the couch cushion. Darkwing rushed over and grabbed it.

It was the photo Gosalyn had, of herself and her grandfather, the infernal Waddlemeyer Ramrod in the background. He hated that stupid machine, the root of all of this mess. He wanted to destroy it. He’d use a sledgehammer and dynamite and drop it off a cliff and run it over with a bulldozer and—

Wait.

Darkwing turned around. “Launchpad, do you have a magnifying glass?”

“Uh, Mr. McD has one in his study, but—”

Darkwing took off running, Launchpad on his heels, up the stairs and pushing open the doors to the study, where the McDuck-Duck family, Mrs. Beakley, Webby and Lena were gathered, looking upset and beaten and scared. Scrooge got to his feet.

“Darkwing, you’re—”

Darkwing ignored the older duck, snatching the magnifying glass off the desk.

He held the glass up to the photo.

The keys to the Ramrod’s operating system.

Four keys.

Four colors.

Red, blue, yellow, purple.

Blue.

Little girl _blue_.

“_Close your eyes, little girl blue, inside of you lies a rainbow._” Darkwing sang under his breath._ “Yellow, blue, red, blue, purple too, then the yellow_.”

“Whelp, he’s lost it,” Louie said with a sigh.

“Uh, how hard did he get hit on the head?” Lena asked.

“You sure he doesn’t have a concussion, Mrs. Beakley?” Huey asked the housekeeper in a not-so-discreet whisper.

Darkwing whirled around, waving the photo.

“The code! I know the code! It was in the lullaby the whole time! Gosalyn knew it, she just didn’t know that she knew it!” He exclaimed.

Darkwing turned to look at Launchpad. “Is the Thunderquack ready?”

Launchpad blinked but said, “Yeah, ready as it’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Darkwing said. He walked over to Scrooge’s desk again, where his fedora lay on the surface, illuminated by a beam of moonlight. “Because I’m going to make Bulba wish he was still in prison.”

He swooped up the fedora and placed it on his head, grinning as he looked around the room and said three words:

“Let’s. Get. Dangerous.”


	7. Chapter 7

The kids were firmly ordered to stay at McDuck Manor with Mrs. Beakley, despite their clear displeasure and many arguments.

“We already have to rescue one child, I’m not running any risks of having to rescue more,” Scrooge had declared, and made it clear that his word was final.

However, those staying behind wanted to make their contributions known.

“Darkwing,” Dewey said. “We have something for you!”

Darkwing was presented with a bag full of…

“Uh, thanks?” He said, holding up the small canister to twist it in the light. “What are they?”

“Smoke bombs in Darkwing Duck blue!” Huey answered, grinning.

“And you can throw ‘em and scare off the bad guys and trick ‘em so they don’t know where you are!” Webby added, adding in a few martial arts moves as examples.

“Also, you seem like you were a former theater kid, so, you know, you can make a flashy entrance or whatever.” Lena said with a small shrug.

“Is it really that obvious I was a theater kid?” Darkwing asked as he tucked the smoke bombs into his belt.

“Do you really want an answer to that?” Dewey asked in response.

He did not, actually.

“I have something for you as well, leftover from my S.H.U.S.H. days,” Mrs. Beakley added, presenting Darkwing with…

“A gun?” Darkwing said with surprise.

“Not just any gun, a gas gun,” Mrs. Beakley explained.

“Pfft,” Louie snickered behind the housekeeper’s back. “Fart gun.”

“No,” Mrs. Beakley said, throwing a disapproving glance over her shoulder at the sniggering triplets. “There are several canisters, each labeled. Laughing gas, tear gas, knockout gas—and, yes, stink gas. Boys, truly, can you be more mature? This is a highly advanced weapon…”

“Yeah, guys, it’s not every day there’s a weapon powered by farts!” Huey said, grinning as that made his brothers literally fall to the floor, clutching their stomachs from laughing so hard.

“Ugh, _boys_,” Lena groaned, rolling her eyes.

Darkwing tried to keep himself from smiling as that made the triplets laugh even harder.

Mrs. Beakley sighed and shook her head. “Children. They never recognize great weapons when they see them. Anyways, this also has another important feature: a grappling hook. Just utilize this switch.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Beakley.” Darkwing said. He looked around the room. “Thank you all. For everything.”

“Thank us by takin’ down Bulba and getting Gosalyn home safe,” Scrooge said, patting Darkwing on the back. To Della, he said, “Della, get the Cloud Slayer’s engines running.”

Della looked a bit surprised, then grinned. “Cloud Slayer, huh?”

“Eh, you’re piloting. And, besides,” Scrooge said as he and his niece walked towards the plane. “It seems fitting for tonight’s adventure.”

As Mrs. Beakley herded the children upstairs, Darkwing took a deep breath and walked over to the Thunderquack, looking at his reflection in the surface.

He was Darkwing Duck, the Terror that Flaps in the Night.

He was Drake Mallard, a lonely bullied kid who was living his childhood dream.

And he was ready to take on Taurus Bulba and bring Gosalyn home.

Darkwing turned to his right when he saw Launchpad’s reflection join his own in the Thunderquack’s surface.

“Thank you,” Darkwing said. “For everything. I mean it. For believing in me, for the Thunderquack, for being my friend, for helping me back on my feet… Thank you. I know that, whatever happens tonight, I couldn’t ask for a better person to be at my side.”

Launchpad hesitated. Then he said, “Drake?”

“Yeah?” Darkwing prompted.

He blinked in surprise as two large hands cupped his face.

He was even more surprised when Launchpad leaned down.

He was completely flummoxed when Launchpad kissed him.

His eyes closed, leaning into the kiss, surprised, yes, but pleasantly so.

Too soon, they broke apart, eyes opening slowly, staring at each other.

Launchpad smiled. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

_So have I,_ Darkwing thought but didn’t say as he smiled back, laying his hand over one of Launchpad’s.

It should have been a perfect moment had self-doubt and anxiety and a little bit of sadness began to eat at his thoughts and into his heart, ruining the moment.

Launchpad was just as much of a _Darkwing Duck_ fanboy as he was, so was this some sort of… fantasy? Wish fulfillment? So he couldn’t stop himself from asking, softly, “You’ve… you’ve wanted to kiss Darkwing Duck?”

Launchpad shook his head. “No. I’ve wanted to kiss the man beneath Darkwing Duck. The kid who kept getting back up, who grew up to be the hero he admired, the hero he wanted to be. I’ve been wanting to do that since you showed me that lunchbox in your trailer.”

Darkwing couldn’t help but laugh, choked as it was. “I wished you had done so sooner.”

“Yeah. So do I.”

Darkwing—no, Drake, this one was all Drake Mallard—stood on his toes and pressed a kiss to the side of Launchpad’s face. “I’m going to come back. And we’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

“You better come back,” Launchpad said. “Even if we never speak to each other again.”

As Darkwing pulled away, heading towards the Sun Chaser/Cloud Slayer, he grinned. “Oh, we’ll speak, all right. Among other things.”

He tilted his fedora to Launchpad, then boarded the red plane.

It was time to get dangerous.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Curse me kilts,” Scrooge grumbled as he and Darkwing peered out the front windshield of the plane.

“So much for beating Bulba here,” Della said with a frown.

“That’s alright,” Darkwing said, pulling out a smoke-bomb from his belt. “Gives me a chance to make a dramatic entrance.”

“Getting into position,” Della told him.

Drake went down to the plane’s hatch. “I’m in position.”

“Opening hatch,” Della said, pressing a button.

Darkwing dropped from the air, waiting to time the throw of his smoke-bomb so that it wouldn’t fly back up and hit him in the face (which, let’s be real, with his luck would most definitely happen).

Surprisingly, it worked.

Bulba and his goons didn’t even notice him until his feet hit the roof of the Money Bin, blue smoke billowing around him.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night,” He declared ominously. “I am the coupon that expired two days ago. I am… _Darkwing Duck_! And you, Taurus Bulba, may now surrender and hand over your hostages!”

Bulba laughed. “Oh, but you’re early, Darkwing. I still have ten minutes left until midnight. However,” He smirked as his pet vulture flew closer, a struggling Gosalyn in the bird’s talons. “I’m hoping you might persuade our little friend here to hand over the code.”

“I told you, I don’t know it!” Gosalyn yelled, swinging her feet, trying to kick anything and anyone. In the low light, Darkwing could see the remnants of tears on her face, but otherwise she looked unharmed, just angry. He’d be relieved, but he knew he wouldn’t be until she was safely away from Bulba.

“And I told you, little girl, that I’m not a fool!” Bulba snapped at Gosalyn. To Darkwing, he said, “As you can see, the little brat has been petulant. Kids these days, no respect. Think that they’re big stuff. But, perhaps, what she needs is for the stakes to be raised…”

Darkwing scowled and stepped forward. “Bulba, not even Gyro Gearloose knows that code. Doesn’t even know where to begin. Do you really think Waddlemeyer would have given the code for a multi-million dollar weapon of mass destruction to a little girl?”

“She knows something, I know it,” Bulba said. “She has to, it’s all part of the plan… I haven’t spent years just pretending to be a humbled prisoner, slaving over laundry and cooking and making license plates. No, I have been plotting, and this girl is the key. She knows the code… and I will get it out of her.”

There was something in Bulba’s tone that reminded Darkwing uncomfortably of the first time he donned the costume, during his fight with the former _Darkwing Duck_ star Jim Starling.

Jim, like Bulba did now, sounded mad.

And not just the angry type of mad.

Insane. Unhinged. Delusional.

Dangerous.

“Let the kid go, Bulba,” Darkwing said, taking another cautious step forward, trying to keep his gaze on Bulba and Gosalyn, his hand on the gas gun. He had already loaded it with the knockout gas. If he could shoot the vulture, he could get Gosalyn… She’d be out, too, but she’d be free of this madman.

“I don’t think so,” Bulba said, lifting his arm.

Darkwing froze as a gun barrel was pointed at him.

Unlike his own weapon, this gun was most definitely not firing gas.

“No! Don’t shoot him!” Gosalyn screamed, renewing her fight for freedom.

“Then tell me the code!” Bulba roared at her. “Give me the code, or Darkwing is going to be full of holes!”

Tears were streaming down Gosalyn’s face as she started pleading, “Please, no, I really don’t—”

There was a bang, and a scream, and Bulba’s laughter.

Darkwing gasped and dropped down to one knee, eyes filling with tears from the pain that came from the bullet grazing his arm, his own warm blood against his fingers as he grabbed the injury.

“That, my dear girl, was a warning shot,” Bulba said, cocking the gun again. “The code. Now.”

Darkwing grit his teeth, getting back up on his feet, holding his bleeding arm.

Bulba believed Gosalyn had the code.

Bulba would kill Darkwing to get the code.

Gosalyn doesn’t have the code.

But Darkwing did. Not that Bulba had to know that.

But maybe he could make Bulba think that Darkwing had the code…

More importantly, he saw something Bulba didn’t see: a waiting aircraft, small and dark and making hardly a sound, hovering and waiting to receive one little girl.

“Don’t tell him, Gosalyn!” Darkwing yelled. “That code is more important than my life, and your life is more important than mine! I’ll take the code to my grave!”

This got Bulba’s attention, just as he hoped.

Because now he had someone else to try and interrogate.

And he didn’t care how rough he had to be to get what he wanted.

“That is true, Darkwing,” Bulba said. “Now, Miss Waddlemeyer, perhaps I was a little too hasty in my methods of getting you to talk.”

He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.

“Clearly, I was threatening the wrong life.”

Darkwing watched with horror as the vulture flew Gosalyn over the side of the Money Bin, her screaming the whole time.

That was not how things played out in his head…

“No!” Darkwing yelled. “I know the code! I’ll tell you the code! Just don’t hurt her!”

Bulba smirked and chuckled. To Gosalyn, he said, “See? It’s not so hard, now is it?”

“Let her go, now,” Darkwing snarled.

“I will,” Bulba said. “After you put in the code.”

The Ramrod was wheeled out of the airship onto the roof. Ramsbottom came over and shoved Darkwing from behind, urging him towards the Ramrod.

Darkwing stared at the four colored keys in front of him.

He just had to hope he was right.

Blue. Yellow. Blue. Red. Blue. Purple. Purple. Yellow.

The Waddlemeyer Ramrod hummed to life.

There was cheering amongst Bulba’s goons, and he strode forward towards the machine, a triumphant grin on his face.

Before Darkwing could be shoved out of the way, something on the control panel caught his eye. A lever with a yellow and black warning label.

It gave him an idea…

“I put in the code,” Darkwing told Bulba stiffly. “Now. Release the girl.”

Bulba’s grin turned vicious.

“Of course.”

He snapped his fingers again.

And Darkwing felt the blood drain out of his face as Gosalyn screamed as she was dropped.

He raced over to the side, ready to leap after her, his pulse in his ears, and that was when he realized that her screaming had stopped.

Darkwing looked over the edge, sighing with relief and putting a hand on his chest as he saw Launchpad help Gosalyn into the cockpit of the Thunderquack.

Launchpad caught her, just in time.

Launchpad and Gosalyn waved at him.

“I’m fine!” Gosalyn yelled up to him with a grin. “Go kick Bulba’s butt!”

“Yeah, go show him whose boss, DW!” Launchpad yelled.

Darkwing smiled, trying hard not to give away how anxious he was or how hard his heart was thudding as he said, “Launchpad, change of plans. Take Gosalyn back to the manor, and tell Della to fly out over the water a little further.”

Launchpad nodded. “Got it. Drop Gosalyn and come back—”

“No!” Darkwing said quickly. “Just… just keep her safe for me, okay?”

“But that wasn’t the plan.”

“I know, but the plan needs adjusting a little. It’ll be fine. Trust me!”

_And forgive me…_

Launchpad nodded again. “I trust you, DW. I’ll patch word into Della and Mr. McD.”

“Thanks,” Darkwing said. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Gosalyn. He gave her a small smile and said, “Stay out of trouble, kiddo.”

Gosalyn snorted but grinned. “It’s like you don’t even know me! And aren’t you the one with the catchphrase ‘Let’s get dangerous’?”

“Hey, I’m an adult. I can get away with telling you to do something and doing the opposite.”

“Yeah, well, now you’re just wasting time!”

It was true. He knew it. He didn’t want to leave this moment.

“I’m going,” He told them, giving them a wave and a forced grin.

It wasn’t an outright good-bye. He couldn’t let them know that’s what it was, though.

Couldn’t let them know what his deviation of the plan entailed.

With a deep breath, Darkwing turned back to Bulba, who was directing the Ramrod onto his airship.

The hatch was already starting to close.

Darkwing managed to slip in just before it could close.

And, more importantly, he remembered just in time to gather his cape into one hand so that it didn’t get caught.

Darkwing saw Bulba over by the window, laughing maniacally as the Ramrod slowly began to ease the Money Bin into the air. He could hear the bridge cracking, the sound of the waves increasing.

And while Bulba and his goons were celebrating and patting each other on the back, Darkwing went over to the Waddlemeyer Ramrod.

The lever he had seen before had given him an idea.

No, it had given him a solution.

The original plan he had laid out in Scrooge McDuck’s study called for Darkwing to corner Bulba and use the Thunderquack and Sun Chaser to prevent his escape by foot, air and sea.

But when Bulba dangled Gosalyn off the roof… Darkwing knew his plan wasn’t going to work. Or, rather, could still work.

But Bulba was a madman, cruel and vicious and selfish and—worst of all—cunning, manipulative, and resourceful.

Even if Bulba ended up back behind bars, even if it was at a more secure center, even if he was guarded at all times, Bulba would find a way to escape and to continue his nefarious career in crime.

Worse, if Bulba escaped again, he would target Gosalyn again, especially as he had now clearly picked up on the fact that Darkwing Duck was fond of her and vice versa.

So Darkwing Duck had to end it.

Permanently.

Darkwing was almost at the Ramrod, creeping quietly and low to the ground…

“Hey! How’d he get on board?”

“Never mind, stop him!”

Darkwing lifted his gas gun and fired, shouting "Suck gas, evil-doer!". While the goons either fell to the ground, coughing from the smoke, or tried to charge through and disperse the gas, Darkwing took off running for the machine, wrapping his hands around the lever.

Bulba saw this and boomed: “You don’t know what you’re doing, Darkwing!”

“But I do,” Darkwing retorted. He took a deep, steadying breath as he said, “Because I am the terror that flaps in the night. I am Darkwing Duck. And I…”

He pulled the lever, warning sirens immediately starting to go off.

“Am getting dangerous.”


	8. Chapter 8

The explosion rang through the entire city, rattling the windows of the Thunderquack.

Launchpad felt his heart skip a beat.

No. No, that couldn’t be…

But what if?

No. It couldn’t be…

And then Gosalyn let out a strangled cry. “No!” She screamed, her hands against the windows as she looked backward.

Launchpad felt his stomach churn and knot.

He didn’t look.

He didn’t want to look.

He didn’t need to look.

He knew.

_Drake, what did you do?_

Launchpad didn’t turn the Thunderquack around, he continued on to the McDuck Manor calmly, quietly as Gosalyn screamed and cried and curled into a ball beside him.

He didn’t crash the Thunderquack. He wasn’t sure how he did that. He didn’t care.

He picked up Gosalyn and carried her out of the craft, his face blank as he immediately placed her into the waiting arms of Mrs. Beakley.

The unflappable former spy’s hands shook as she accepted the crying girl.

Launchpad put a hand on Gosalyn’s head.

“I’m going to find him,” He told her. “I’m going to find him, Gos.”

But would he find a Darkwing who miraculously escaped certain death?

Or a Darkwing who had found certain death?

Launchpad turned on his heel, heading back to the Thunderquack. He hadn’t realized that the Sun Chaser had returned until he heard Della and Scrooge call his name.

“Where are ye going, lad?” Scrooge demanded.

“I’m going to find him,” Launchpad answered, not looking back, his entire focus on getting to the Thunderquack.

He wasn’t going to look for him.

He was going to find him.

And if he didn’t… He didn’t know what he’d do.

A hand wrapped around his wrist.

“We’ll help you, we’ll take the helicopter, I’ll pilot and—”

That made Launchpad stop and whirl on Della Duck, his eyes blazing with anger and fear and grief.

“Of course. We wouldn’t want to take away a chance for the great Della Duck to fly something, now would we? We wouldn’t want her to feel replaced when she’s the one doing the replacing!” Launchpad snapped at her.

It was the first time in his life that he had snapped at anyone. That he had taken anger out on anyone. That he had felt anger enough to take it out on someone. That he had felt this much anger instead of mildly annoyed or inconvenienced. Those who knew him would never have expected this outburst. Launchpad himself hadn’t expected this outburst.

But tonight was different. Tonight he had been through too much, had more of the night to go. His heart was in pieces—perhaps more literally than he would like. He didn’t know. Tonight he had already let out the positive things he had kept hidden and close to his chest.

And now he needed to release the negative.

Della flinched and swallowed, looking ashamed, but she said, voice breaking slightly, “Launchpad… You’re in no emotional state to pilot. And you’ll be more help to Darkwing when we find him. He’ll need you at his side.”

Launchpad stared at Della long and hard for a moment, until Scrooge huffed and said, “We’re wasting time. Precious, valuable time that Darkwing might not have. Della will pilot while you and I will search for him, Launchpad.”

There was authority in the voice, no room to argue. And he was right. If Darkwing was alive—please, please let him be alive—then they had to go now and find him soon.

Launchpad jerked his arm out of Della’s grasp and nodded before he boarded the helicopter, the three ducks completely silent as the craft took off and flew towards the Money Bin.

Emergency crews were already there, putting out the fires and searching the water for survivors. There were flashing lights and search lights and boats and sirens and a whole armada of emergency vehicles: ambulance and fire and police, all trying to carefully cross the broken bridge to get closer to the Money Bin’s island.

Della circled overhead, Launchpad and Scrooge searching the water from above. There was not a word spoken within the cockpit, until…

Launchpad gasped as he spotted white feathers gleaming in the light.

“Della, lower us down there!” He ordered, pointing.

Della looked over and nodded, lowering the helicopter as Scrooge and Launchpad ran to the hatch.

Della hovered the helicopter carefully, as Launchpad dove into the water and swam over to the debris Darkwing Duck was barely clinging to, half in the water, half on top of what appeared to be part of the hull of Taurus Bulba’s airship.

Darkwing groaned as Launchpad grabbed him by the waist. Though the sound was pitiful and was like slipping a knife through Launchpad’s ribs, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Miracle of all miracles, _Darkwing Duck was alive_.

Launchpad swam with the injured duck back towards the helicopter, where Scrooge was waiting to haul Darkwing in.

Darkwing’s groans grew louder as Scrooge took him by the shoulders, pulling him into the Sun Chaser. Once on the floor of the helicopter, Darkwing moaned with pain and shivered.

Launchpad got on his knees, taking Darkwing’s hand, then dropping it when Darkwing suddenly howled in pain.

“Drake!” Launchpad exclaimed, then immediately wanted to hit himself for it.

He had forgotten to not call Darkwing by his real name.

But then, Darkwing reached out with his other hand, reaching out for Launchpad.

“You’re right,” He said through gritted, chattering teeth. “I have to be Drake…”

“He’s goin’ into shock,” Scrooge said, scowling as he opened up the medical kit.

“No!” Darkwing groaned. “Well, maybe. But…”

He looked at Launchpad and it was the saddest sight the pilot had ever seen. His pure white feathers were coated in blood, his breathing was labored, and it was clear that he had several broken bones.

But his eyes were determined as he repeated in a decisive whisper, “I need to be Drake.”

And then Launchpad understood.

Darkwing Duck lifted his head slightly as Launchpad moved to untie the mask that covered his face.

Launchpad wished he hadn’t, because of the bruises that were already forming in places the mask had covered. But the two held onto each other’s gaze for a long moment then the smaller duck turned his gaze to Scrooge McDuck. In a wheeze, he said,

“Drake Mallard. Nice to meet you.”

Then his eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the helicopter’s rotors and Drake’s labored breathing, then Scrooge stood up from where he knelt beside the injured hero and said, “Launchpad, start getting him out of the rest of that costume.”

Scrooge walked away as Launchpad started undoing the buttons of Darkwing’s jacket, finding that the gas gun Mrs. B had given Drake was tucked between the jacket and blue turtleneck. Launchpad carefully eased Drake out of both articles of clothing, tossing aside the soaking wet, blood-covered clothes. Launchpad’s stomach twisted at the sight of Drake’s torso, full of bruises, the way he just knew that at least one of Drake’s ribs was broken.

Drake, naked as the day he hatched, seemed even more vulnerable, even smaller, even more broken now.

Launchpad just hoped he could be put back together.

Though unconscious, Drake shivered and Launchpad started to dry him off with a blanket, though wondered if he should focus more on stanching the blood from the bullet wound and the multitude of cuts on Drake’s legs. Which was worse, blood loss or hyperthermia? Where was Huey and that Junior Woodchuck Guidebook he always had with him? That would have the answers Launchpad needed to keep Drake alive. He had to keep Drake alive…

Scrooge reappeared a moment later, holding a bundle of clothing. “Let’s get him dried off as best we can, then we’re going to put these on him.” Scrooge then dropped to his knees, setting aside the bundle of clothes to grab a towel and also work on drying off Drake, who moaned slightly as they jostled his broken bones.

“Alright now,” Scrooge said after a moment, setting aside the towel. “That’s as good as we’re gonna get. Sit him up gently, Launchpad.”

Launchpad did as he was told, carefully propping Drake up against his body. Drake groaned and turned his head, leaning his forehead against Launchpad’s neck. Drake’s body shook in another shiver, and Launchpad realized that he was still soaking wet, too, that being pressed against him just gave Drake another shock of cold.

Launchpad tore his gaze away from Drake to see what Scrooge had brought over. He frowned.

“Uh, Mr. McD? What is that?”

“Emergency clothing, Launchpad,” Scrooge said, slashing the sleeve of a pale pink shirt, matching in placement where the bullet wound was on Drake’s arm. “Fortunately, just his size.”

“Must have to be a real big emergency for that combination of clothing,” Launchpad said, his gaze now on the ugliest green sweatervest he had ever seen.

Della’s voice rang out from the pilot’s seat. “Is it that ugly monstrosity that Uncle Scrooge calls a perfectly serviceable piece of clothing? I thought Donald burned that waste of perfectly good wool…”

Scrooge did not look impressed with either of their comments, and started to ease Drake’s limp arms through the sleeves of the shirt. “It is a perfectly serviceable piece of clothing for one Drake Mallard, employee of McDuck Enterprises, who had the misfortune of getting caught in the Money Bin when Taurus Bulba’s airship exploded. Fortunately, we three found him in a secure area that only I can access after I received an alarm at the manor that can only be set off by a living being.”

Launchpad suddenly realized what Scrooge was doing. “That’s his cover story?”

“It’s what we’re going to tell those quacks at the hospital, yes,” Scrooge said as he started doing the shirt’s buttons. “And that it was faster to fly him to the hospital instead of bringing him in an ambulance, that the crews on-site were busy with other victims. Della, alert the hospital that we will be coming in for a landing.”

“On it, Uncle Scrooge,” Della said, starting to flip switches.

Launchpad stared at Scrooge, at a loss for words. As the Scottish duck gently tugged on the hem of the sweatervest he was dressing Drake in, he glanced up at Launchpad and said, “Drake Mallard is alive, and we’re going to make sure he stays that way. However…” Scrooge glanced down at Drake, protectively cradled by Launchpad, his beak parted slightly, his breaths coming in shaky, wheezy bursts. “It’ll be up to him to proclaim Darkwing Duck as dead or alive.”

Launchpad swallowed and carefully laid Drake out on the floor, holding the hand of his not-broken arm. He stayed that way until the hospital crew lifted him off the floor of the helicopter and whisked him inside, behind doors he couldn’t enter through.

Launchpad just hoped that wasn’t the last time he saw Drake Mallard.

But he was almost certain that tonight was the last time he had seen Darkwing Duck.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Gosalyn cried and cried and cried some more, until she thought she couldn’t possibly have any tears left and then she let out dry, broken sobs, her lungs shuddering and breath hitching, every bit of her mind, body and soul aching. All the while, Mrs. Beakley sat on the bed beside her, gently rubbing her back and saying nothing.

They both knew there were no words of comfort she could be offered.

She burrowed under a blanket on the guest room bed, her head hurting as much as her heart, her lungs burning and her eyes swollen.

She had done this only six months ago, while lying in another unfamiliar bed—that one belonging to her next door neighbor, who had taken Gosalyn in until the funeral for her grandfather.

The grandfather she had come home from school to find motionless at the bottom of the stairs. There had been so much blood and his neck at such a wrong angle and he was just so quiet, no matter how much she screamed and cried and begged for him to wake up… She had called for help, but it was far too late.

The only difference between this night and that night was that she wasn’t left alone. Mrs. Beakley stayed with her the entire night. Webby and Huey had brought up multiple glasses of water, getting her to drink so she didn’t dehydrate herself. Dewey and Louie found the softest blanket in the house and brought it to her to be wrapped up in. And then Lena came in and had a whispered conversation with Mrs. B before coming over and placing her hand on Gosalyn’s head. The tall duckling whispered a phrase, words that Gosalyn had never heard and didn’t understand, but suddenly her eyes were heavy and her crying ceased and she fell asleep.

When she woke up, it was daylight. Gosalyn blinked, feeling sore and drained and weighed down. She looked and saw that Webby’s arms were around her in a vice grip and that Lena was sitting beside her, back to the headboard but sound asleep. Huey, Dewey and Louie were at the foot of the bed, sprawled out and lying on top of each other, one of them snoring.

Poor orphaned Gosalyn Waddlemeyer had friends.

But she no longer had a hero.

She sat up when she heard the door open and Mrs. Beakley slipped in, a tray with an empty glass and a full pitcher of water.

Mrs. Beakley carefully pried her granddaughter off of Gosalyn, sitting on the edge of the bed, avoiding Louie’s head and Webby’s feet. She poured Gosalyn a glass of water and she drank it in silence.

When the glass was empty, Gosalyn stared down the glass in her hands. “Has there… have they found…?”

Mrs. Beakley sighed. “Mr. McDuck, Launchpad and Della haven’t given me any updates on their… search. I would like to say no news is good news.”

“There’s no way he could have survived. He couldn’t have. I saw it,” Gosalyn whispered hoarsely, her throat rough. “I don’t think he could have escaped. And… and I think he knew. What he was going to do. He sacrificed himself. For me, for Duckburg, for St. Canard, because he’s a hero and that’s what heroes do. I just wish he had saved himself, too.”

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, which Mrs. Beakley wiped away with her thumb. “No more tears, Gosalyn,” She said sternly but not unkindly. “Darkwing cared for you very much. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be sad. He’d just be happy that you’re safe.”

Gosalyn pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on her kneecaps. “I wanted him to adopt me. I thought I found my family. And now… I’ve lost all my family again.”

Mrs. Beakley pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so sorry, dear. But I assure you, you are not without family. So long as you are a friend to Clan McDuck, you have family.”

Gosalyn sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “Thanks, Mrs. B…”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said, pushing back some of Gosalyn’s hair. “However, I do have something to tell you. Mr. McDuck did have to inform the St. Canard authorities to your whereabouts. Mrs. Cavanagh and your social worker has been in contact since, and both will be here shortly to return you to St. Canard.”

Gosalyn’s heart sank. “Do I have to go?”

Mrs. Beakley nodded. “I’m afraid so. As much as we want you to stay, legally you can’t.”

Gosalyn frowned and her eyes looked down at her lap. “Can I… can I see Launchpad before I go?”

“I’ll do my best to get in contact with him,” Mrs. Beakley told her. “I’ll go start trying to find him now.”

Gosalyn nodded, then dove back under the blankets, cuddling into Webby’s warmth, tucking her feet underneath the boys.

She could avoid the real world a while longer still, and just bask in the presence of the best friends she’s ever had.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Hospitals were strange places and full of contradictions. They were places where life and death coexisted. Places where hope and despair coexisted. Places where silence and noise coexisted. Places where loneliness and crowds coexisted.

Launchpad had lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting in this waiting room. He didn’t know how long Drake had been in surgery—or how many surgeries he had been in for that matter. He didn’t know if it was still tonight or if it had become today. Heck, he wasn’t even sure what time he had entered this place.

All he did know was that his butt was numb from this hard plastic chair, that his clothes were stiff and uncomfortable from the seawater drying in the air conditioning, that no one had told them anything or how Drake was, and that Scrooge and Della were seated on either side of him, neither having moved since they had taken their seats in the waiting room hours before.

When they first arrived, Launchpad leaving a trail of water in his wake and followed by the richest duck in the world and the sound of Della’s uneven steps, her metal foot making an almost clicking sound on the linoleum, the waiting room had been decently full for after midnight. But every time a doctor, nurse, or tech in scrubs came out of the room, the waiting room became emptier, those waiting taken back to see their loved ones, or into a private room, or up to a completely different waiting room, or be seen as patients themselves.

But no one had approached the motley trio.

Launchpad just hoped that was a good thing.

But now he and Scrooge and Della were the only people in the waiting room, and there was silence except for the television in the corner, the local news station on and reporting about the night’s events.

“—still no report as to the whereabouts of the masked vigilante known as Darkwing Duck. However, Chief of Police Bernard Shephard states that he and his team are presuming him to be—”

The next word was cut off and Launchpad blinked as he watched Mr. McD scowl at the now-off television and grumble under his breath as he walked back over to his chair, now leaving them entirely in silence.

Della broke the silence with a deep, shuddering breath before saying, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Uncle Scrooge. I’m so sorry, Launchpad.”

“For what?” Launchpad asked, not looking at her, his voice coming out gruffer and rougher than he had intended.

“For everything,” Della said, sniffling some. “But what I’m most sorry about is for how I treated you, Launchpad. I was jealous and took it out on you.”

“For being a pilot?” Launchpad asked.

“No. It’s just… the boys love you. You’ve been in their lives less than a year, but you know them much better than I do and they love you and trust you and…” Della sniffled some more, then continued. “Louie can barely look me in the eye, and Dewey is always trying to impress me, and Huey always points out when you or Donald or Uncle Scrooge do things differently than I do and… And you have this bond with them that I don’t and I worry that I won’t ever have, and I don’t think I’ll ever measure up as their mom. Because you and Donald and Scrooge and Mrs. B are doing such a much better job than I am now, and a much better job than I ever could. So the fact that you were also a pilot was just kind of a tipping point, and I shouldn’t have taken my feelings out on you. But it was easier. To be mean and petty and feel like I was being replaced, instead of telling myself that I don’t belong anymore. I wasn’t replaced, but I should have been. Because I was a coward, and I ran away. I was stupid and reckless and selfish and scared, and I essentially ran away.”

“Scared?” Scrooge exclaimed, frowning as he leaned forward to look around Launchpad to look at his niece. “Scared of what, lass? What the blazes could you possibly have been scared of that made you feel you needed to run off to bloody space to escape?”

Della pulled her knees to her chest, staring at her one flesh foot and her one metal one. “I was scared of being a mom. Of not having adventures anymore. Of messing up as a mom. Of being tied down. Of… change. I thought for sure that if nothing else it would be my last hurrah. And because I was scared, I did something stupid and reckless and selfish, and hurt everyone I loved. And when I came back, everything was different, because I made one decision that hurt my family and ultimately ended up hurting myself. I never got to know my boys when they were babies. Never got to hold them. Never got to be there for them. And I ended up missing everything because of things I was scared of that, now, in hindsight, were totally dumb.” Della sighed. “Maybe I should have just stayed on the moon. All I’m good for is hurting the people I care about, or hurting the people the people I care for care about. I’m sorry, Launchpad. I really, really am.”

Launchpad was quiet for a moment, then he sighed and turned to Della. “The boys love you, Della. They loved you before, they love you now. There’s no way me or anyone else is going to replace you in their eyes. But you’re all still adjusting. I forgive you, and I understand. Mostly. But you’re not just good for hurting people. You’re good at helping people, too. You just don’t know how to in a completely different world. You’ll figure it out, and you’ve got us to help you. Isn’t that right, Mr. McD?”

“Completely,” Scrooge said with a nod. He reached across Launchpad and rested a hand on Della’s knee. “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could talk about how you were feeling before, Della. But that’s going to change. You’re part of this family, now and forever.” Scrooge glanced up at Launchpad and added, “That goes for you, too, Launchpad.”

Launchpad smiled at his boss; crotchety and stingy as the old man was, he always knew that, deep down, Scrooge McDuck had a huge heart.

Suddenly, the sound of the doors opening got their attention and their heads swiveled around as a tall female dog in maroon scrubs stepped out.

“Family of Mr. Mallard?” She called.

“Us!” Launchpad exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing over. “That’s us. How is he?”

The nurse’s face didn’t betray any news—good or bad—as she said, “Follow me. The doctor on Mr. Mallard’s case would like to speak with you in private.”

Launchpad swallowed.

That didn’t… sound promising.

Scrooge placed a hand on Launchpad’s arm, and Della put a hand on the small of Launchpad’s back. Glancing at each of them, both ducks gave him reassuring smiles.

With the confidence and comfort of his second family at his side, Launchpad took a deep breath and told the nurse, “Lead the way.”


	9. Chapter 9

Drake felt like he was floating. Not like floating in a body of water, exactly, though. His limbs felt heavy, difficult to move. His head felt foggy, clouded. Nothing hurt, necessarily, but breathing was an effort, his lungs tight. He was hyperaware of his heartbeat, feeling his pulse thudding throughout his skull rather than hearing it. He was warm and somewhat comfortable. He was somewhat conscious but he didn’t want to open his eyes. But where was he? Definitely not his crappy apartment, that was for sure…

Oh. Oh, he was dead, wasn’t he?

The memories came back in a blur.

Telling Launchpad to take Gosalyn to safety.

Boarding Bulba’s airship.

Pulling the self-destruct lever on the Waddlemeyer Ramrod.

Using the grappling hook on the gas gun to escape as Bulba’s men tried to jump on him, finding a place to hide and ride out the inevitable explosion that threw him through the air.

Hitting the water, the water filling his lungs as he screamed in pain.

Somehow making his way to the surface and clinging onto whatever he could find.

Launchpad and Scrooge McDuck’s concerned faces over him as he lost consciousness…

“Yeah,” He mumbled to himself, his own voice rough to his ears. “I’m dead…”

“No, lad, you’re not. But you certainly gave it your best shot.”

Drake’s eyes flew open and he turned his head towards the voice, hissing slightly in pain and feeling dizzy. He groaned slightly and blinked a few times, his vision swimming until finally his gaze focused on Scrooge McDuck sitting in a chair at his bedside.

“Mr. McDuck?” Drake mumbled. “What—? I don’t—? Where am—?”

“You’re at Duckburg Hospital,” Scrooge answered. “You’ve been asleep for two days.”

“I have?” Drake said, surprised. Then he glanced down at himself, trying to take inventory. He could see his right arm in a cast—thank goodness for being a leftie—and his left leg was also in a cast, but in traction. He could see wires and tubes running underneath the blankets he was covered in, going under his gown. Now that he was more awake, he could hear his own heart monitor beeping steadily.

“Ye broke your arm, leg, and two ribs, and had some internal bleeding,” Scrooge said. “As well as a black eye and a variety of cuts and bruises, to include that gunshot wound on your arm. Ye regained consciousness briefly after coming out of one of your surgeries. Do you remember that, lad?”

“I…” Drake paused, and thought. He vaguely remembered… something. Asking about Gosalyn, demanding to know if she was safe. Launchpad’s large hand on his face, his voice calm and reassuring as he promised Drake that she was fine, asking him to calm down, to relax, to rest. It was so vague, though, it felt like he had dreamt it. “Kind of?”

Wait. Launchpad had been there… Where was he now?

“Launchpad?” Drake asked Scrooge.

“I sent him back home a while ago,” Scrooge answered. “He’s been by your side since you were admitted. He’s hardly slept or eaten at all. Told him he needed to care for himself as much as he’s been caring for you. He should be back soon, though.” The corner of Scrooge’s mouth lifted. “You’re somethin’ special to him, lad.”

Drake felt his cheeks heat and he glanced away from his friend’s employer, replaying the kiss in his head from a few days before. It felt like only hours ago to him… “Uh, well, we’re friends. I mean, we hardly know each other, we only met a few weeks ago—”

“But you went to him when you were in trouble. And he’s willing to drop everything to help you.”

“Well, that’s what friends do, right? I’d do the same for him.”

Scrooge chuckled. “There’s people I call friends that I don’t trust like that. Blazes, there’s people I call family that I don’t trust like that. I get the feeling that there is much more to your friendship than either of you are willing to admit to anyone except yourselves and each other.”

Drake was most definitely not awake enough for this conversation… Time for a topic change.

“What about Gosalyn? How is she? Where is she?” He asked.

“Gosalyn is back in St. Canard, safe and sound. Her social worker and the head of the orphanage came to pick her up yesterday.” Scrooge answered. He hesitated, then said, “We, uh, didn’t give her a straightforward answer about your condition, per se. Considering she was asking about Darkwing Duck, and not Drake Mallard.”

Drake felt his heart drop. That was probably for the best. He didn’t like the idea of Gosalyn seeing him broken and unconscious, stuck with tubes and needles. Kid had gone through enough trauma in her short little life…

At least he’d most likely be out of here and see her soon enough. He’d come hang around the manor with Launchpad and see her…

“Makes sense,” He mumbled, not quite looking at Scrooge. “I guess they would have to take her back to the orphanage while you did the paperwork.”

“The what?” Scrooge exclaimed, sounding confused.

“The paperwork,” Drake repeated. “You’re going to adopt her, right? She said she had found her family… I assumed she was talking about yours.”

The hospital room was quiet with the exception of Drake’s heart monitor and the dripping of his IV, then Scrooge said, “No, Drake. I suspect that she was talking about you when she said she found her family.”

Drake turned his head back to look at Scrooge in dumbfound confusion. “Me? What, no, I can’t—I… I’m the guy who ran around pretending to be a superhero. I’m the actor who never could catch a break. I’m the loser who dropped out of college and works at Starducks and has a crappy apartment and no friends and—”

“And you love that little girl as much as she loves you,” Scrooge countered. “She needs a family. So do you.”

“I’d mess up with her just like I mess up everything else remotely good in my life,” Drake argued. “Besides, who in their right mind would let me adopt her? I’m a single guy, and have no steady job, barely have a place to live, zero childcare experience… Not only would they flat refuse me, they might laugh me out of the orphanage. Or think I’m some kind of pervert and have me arrested. Or… Or I don’t know. And she wouldn’t want me to be her parent if she knew the real me anyways. She just likes Darkwing Duck.”

“What is so different about Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck?” Scrooge asked. “If Drake Mallard is even half the man Darkwing Duck is, then I think that there should be more men in the world like Drake Mallard.”

“There’s a million ways I could screw up as a parent, just like I’ve screwed up five millions ways as Darkwing,” Drake argued.

“Being a parent doesn’t mean you have to be perfect,” Scrooge said. “No one is. What matters is that you do your best, and you love her no matter what. That girl needs you, and I reckon you need her.”

Drake huffed and looked away, knowing that this argument was just going to continue to be circular.

Scrooge was silent, then he said, “Let me tell you one thing, Drake Mallard. I am an old duck, and I have many regrets in my life. But the biggest regret that I have is that I pushed away my family, the people I love, because I didn’t think I could serve a purpose in their lives. That I shouldn’t be part of their lives. That I would add to the pain and problems. That I would just be a reminder of what they had lost. I wish I had been around more for my great-nephews when they were wee ones. I’m glad I have them now, that I can make up for lost time with my family. But I still regret what I denied myself—and them. Now, tell me, Drake Mallard. In ten years, when you’re older and wiser, do you think you would regret not adopting Gosalyn?”

Drake was silent, then he whispered, “Yes. I think I would.”

No, he knew he would. He’d regret it every day…

“Then you know what to do.” Scrooge said simply.

“But wanting to adopt her and actually doing it are two different things,” Drake said. “And I don’t have the resources. I don’t have the money for an attorney, and all the paperwork, or a good place to raise her and provide her with food and clothes and toys and school supplies… I don’t even have insurance, or a car, or—”

“Those things will get taken care of,” Scrooge said with a wave of his hand. “Because, I assure you, McDuck Enterprises takes good care of their employees. I may the cheapest duck in the world, but I don’t skimp on employee insurance and salaries. It includes vision and dental, I might add.”

Drake blinked. “What?”

“You heard me, lad,” Scrooge said. “You are Drake Mallard, employee at McDuck Enterprises. The question is, in what capacity? I could reinstate you as an employee at McDuck Studios if you wish to continue acting. Or we can find you a placement within the company elsewhere. Of course, that is, if you are only interested in a day job.”

“What does that mean?” Drake asked.

“I pay Gizmoduck’s salary for protecting this city, and I am willing to pay Darkwing Duck’s as well.” Scrooge said. “Quite frankly, Duckburg needs more than one crime-fighter. When Gizmoduck took up the armor, none of us realized how often it would be needed. He needs a break now and again, have a real life, and so will Darkwing Duck. If you are willing to take up the mantle, that is.”

It was an option, a choice, a fork in the road.

Be Drake Mallard, regular everyday guy. All day, every day.

Or return as Darkwing Duck, the Terror that Flaps in the Night.

“I… Can I get back to you on that one?” Drake asked.

“Of course, lad, take all the time you need,” Scrooge said, getting to his feet. “I’m going to go alert the nurses that you’re awake now that we’ve had our little chat. But, if they ask, you just woke up, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Drake said, leaning back on the mattress and letting his eyes drift shut, preparing himself to be in the starring role of the recently awoken, highly confused patient.

Mr. McDuck paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, one last thing, boyo. Regarding Launchpad.”

“Yes, Mr. McDuck?” Drake prompted, opening an eye.

Scrooge’s eyes narrowed slightly as he said menacingly, his Scottish brogue somehow even thicker than usual, “Ye break his heart, I break the rest of yer limbs. Are we clear?”

Drake swallowed slightly. “Uh, yes, sir, Mr. McDuck…”

“Good.”

Drake was then left alone in the room, staring up at the ceiling.

He was going to adopt Gosalyn.

He was going to be a father.

Would it be better for her if he put aside the Darkwing persona?

Or could he do both?

Pros: he’d be doing what he always dreamed of doing, and he’d be protecting innocent people.

Cons: well, he was in a hospital bed right now, wasn’t he? What if next time he was in a coffin and six feet under?

Of course when he needed the biggest pacing session of his life, he couldn’t because his leg was in flapping traction… That was just his luck…

The door was flung open, but instead of nurses or doctors, it was an out of breath Launchpad, his eyes wide as he stared at Drake.

Drake managed a small smile and lifted his good arm in a small wave. “Hey, LP…”

“Drake…” Launchpad whispered, then he rushed into the room, kneeling down beside the bed, gently taking Drake’s left hand in both of his. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

“I’m… okay,” Drake told him. “Just tired. And sore.”

Before anything else could be said, a nurse arrived and shooed Launchpad out before taking Drake’s vital signs. After that, it was a stream of doctors and poking and prodding and questions and tests and then, after what felt like forever, they all left and Launchpad reentered the room, sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

Drake was exhausted now, from the talking and the tests, but he wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

“Hey,” He greeted Launchpad, wincing as he noticed that this greeting was even weaker than the one before.

“Hey,” Launchpad repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Drake mumbled. “For changing the plan.”

“You did what you thought you needed to do,” Launchpad told him. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Well. You know. Going to be okay. Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Drake said. “The morphine’s doing its job, that’s for sure.” He hesitated, then he said, “So… Uh, about… about that kiss… We said we’d talk…”

“We don’t have to now, if you’re not up for it,” Launchpad assured him. “But my feelings haven’t changed. Just know that.”

Drake gave him a small smile. “Neither have mine. I’m just… I’m trying to figure out some stuff, where my life is going to go. Scrooge and I had a bit of a chat and… I decided I want to adopt Gosalyn.”

Launchpad grinned and looked excited. “Hey, that’s great! She’s going to love that… She’s crazy about you, you’re going to be a great dad.”

“Thanks,” Drake said, his smile growing. “And… I know I want you in my life. I really like you. Liked you pretty much since the moment I met you.”

“Even though I fainted on top of you like an idiot?” Launchpad asked.

“I’d say that you more crashed into my life and it’s been better ever since,” Drake told him. “So. What do you say? Let’s give us a chance?”

Launchpad grinned and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Drake’s forehead. “I say we go for it. I’m gonna woo you like you’ve never been wooed before, Drake Mallard.”

Drake let out a small chuckle and said, “Well, considering I haven’t been wooed before, I think it’s safe to say that your wooing is superior to anyone else’s.”

“What? No, that can’t be… Now I’ve definitely gotta make sure that our first date is the best. One Launchpad Romance Supreme for the ages. Prepare to be swept off your feet!”

“Again, won’t be too hard,” Drake said, gesturing to his broken leg in the air.

“My point,” Launchpad said with a wave of his hand. “Is that I’m not going to just give us a chance. I’m going to be in one-hundred, no, two-hundred percent.”

Drake felt tears well up in his eye and he said, “Come over here so I can kiss you, big guy, because I’m in this two-hundred percent as well.”

Launchpad smiled and leaned forward, allowing Drake to give him a small peck on the corner of his beak.

Drake took a deep breath.

Now for the hard conversation…

“Uh, there’s one other thing I wanna talk about, though,” He said. “Um, Mr. McDuck… he offered me employment.”

“Oh, yeah?” Launchpad said.

“Yeah. He said I could work for McDuck Enterprises… or that he could pay me as an employee doing another job. One that I’d do mostly at night. And, uh, it’d be a lot more dangerous.”

He didn’t need to say it. Launchpad didn’t need to say it, didn’t need to confirm.

“So. Which are you going to do?” Launchpad asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Drake admitted. “I’m inclined to take on the second job. But I wanted to talk to you, get your opinion on it. And Gosalyn, if she’s going to be part of my life as well.”

Launchpad was quiet for a moment. “Do you want to do it? Even after all this?”

“I do,” Drake said, nodding. “This… This is probably the most fulfilling thing I’ve done in a long time. It felt good. But I realized that I was struggling because I was doing it alone. Like I said, I still want to talk to Gosalyn, but if I do become Darkwing again… Well, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to do it. With me.”

Launchpad blinked at him, his mouth open slightly in surprise, then he got out, “You want me… to be Darkwing Duck’s sidekick?”

“No,” Drake said, gripping hold of Launchpad’s hand. “I want you to be something better than Darkwing Duck’s sidekick. I want you to be Darkwing Duck’s _partner_.”

The grin that spread across Launchpad’s face could light cities and bring about world peace, in Drake’s opinion.

Launchpad nodded as he leaned forward and kissed Drake’s forehead again. “I would be honored. Yes, I’ll be your partner. If Gosalyn approves.”

“Well, hopefully, we can find out her opinions soon,” Drake said. “I’ll ask Mr. McDuck for recommendations for adoption attorneys. Oh, and I should probably start looking at real estate websites. And parenting websites. And—”

“But for now,” Launchpad interrupted, running his hand through the feathers on Drake’s head. “You’re going to rest up.”

“I can—” Drake started to argue, but cut himself off with a large yawn, his eyes growing heavy. “Okay, yeah, I’m going to rest. I know I just slept for two days, but I could sleep for another week.”

“Sleep as much as you want, it’s good for you.” Launchpad said. “Just wake up every now and again so we know that, you know, you’re alive and stuff.”

“Got it, got it,” Drake mumbled, his eyes slipping shut. Then, “LP?”

“Yeah, DW?”

“Could you… could you hold my hand? While I sleep?”

Launchpad entwined his fingers with Drake’s, giving them a small squeeze. “Nothing else I’d rather do.”

Drake fell asleep with a smile on his face.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to sleep happy.

But he had a feeling that would be changing.


	10. Chapter 10

Mayor Saxony Mallard of St. Canard scowled at the reports on his desk that his daughter-in-law, Duclair, placed on his desk.

“I’ve never been below eighty-percent approval ratings in my entire career,” Saxony said. “Now I’m under sixty? Hovering on being in the fifties?”

Duclair nodded and folded her arms over her chest. “Appears so.”

“Apparently,” Saxony’s son, Campbell, said from where he tossed a football in the air on the couch. “The people aren’t too happy about that thing with… what’s-his-face. Bullhead?”

“Bulba. Taurus Bulba.” Duclair corrected, glaring over her shoulder at her husband. “And what have I told you about having that stupid ball in the office?”

Campbell caught the ball and said in a clearly chided tone, “To not to…”

Saxony’s scowl deepened. “Blazes, I thought that those press conferences last week would have taken care of everything.”

“Apparently not, when you not only couldn’t deliver on your promise to have Bulba back in prison but when it was revealed that Warden Ranger was less than qualified for the position you gave your old football buddy,” Duclair said, perching herself on the edge of Saxony’s desk. “I told you that your tendency towards giving old pals high level positions was going to get you in trouble, Dad.”

Saxony huffed and glared up at her. “Remember, your position here is included in that.”

“I at least have the education, poise, and good PR to back me up,” Duclair retorted. “Marrying Campbell over here was just a bonus.” She looked over her shoulder again, where Campbell was balancing the football on his beak, she mumbled, “Though that is debatable…”

Just then, the doors to the Mayor’s office burst open, and in flooded Saxony’s wife, Maggie, along with his daughter, Binkie, the former waving a newspaper.

“I’m in section C!” Maggie cried out dramatically. “My garden party was in section C! Not section A! Who reads section C in the newspaper?”

“I do, that’s where the sports section is!” Campbell exclaimed, catching the football as it toppled off his beak.

“My point exactly, dumpling!” Maggie wailed as she fell into a chair.

“Mother already called the newspaper, and they said that her garden party was not groundbreaking news, nor relevant to current events,” Binkie said mournfully, patting her poor mother on the shoulder.

Duclair rolled her eyes and sighed, pinching her beak with her fingers. “Clearly, the Mallard family is in disgrace with the citizens of St. Canard.”

Maggie wailed, the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Let me see that,” Saxony said, reaching for the newspaper. Maggie held the paper out from her like it was dirty, and Binkie took it from her between two pinched fingers, passing it to her father. Saxony scanned the front page, fuming over the headlines that were still—even nearly two weeks later—about Bulba’s escape and supposed death in Duckburg, along with that vigilante Darkwing Duck and—

Saxony paused on a name.

Gosalyn Waddlemeyer, the little orphan girl Bulba targeted and was rescued by Darkwing Duck.

As a minor and ward of the state, both the girl and her social worker had denied access for interviews with the little girl and there was only one picture of her in the media—a school photo that had been used in news reports when her disappearance had been noted by the orphanage. But she was a media darling, and he knew many well-to-do members of St. Canard’s society had been heavily donating to the orphanage.

Saxony folded the paper and stood up from his chair, clasping his hands as he looked out at his assembled family.

“My darlings, I know how to fix everything. Campbell, Binkie, you’re getting a new baby sister. Your mother and I are going to adopt Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

It had been two weeks since Gosalyn’s entire life had been upended, when she had nearly been kidnapped then rescued by Darkwing Duck.

Since her return to the orphanage, nothing had been the same.

She was sad all the time, and the other kids avoided her and eyed her warily. She hadn’t eaten much, and she hadn’t gone to school except for once. After being bombarded with classmates who wanted to know the whole story—about being kidnapped, about Bulba, about her grandfather’s invention, about Darkwing Duck—she had hidden in the nurse’s office until Mrs. Cavanaugh came to pick her up. She hadn’t even made it to morning recess.

Gosalyn had immediately started seeing a therapist the very next day. It was… well, it wasn’t making it worse, but Gosalyn definitely wasn’t feeling better. The therapist, her social worker, Mrs. Cavanaugh… they all told her it was okay. That she was allowed to hurt and be sad as long as she wanted, but also told her that they wanted to make sure that her grief didn’t consume her.

She talked with her friends in Duckburg a lot. That helped. But always felt lonelier at the end of the calls, missing her friends. She especially missed Launchpad. She didn’t get to see him or speak with him before she left Duckburg.

Gosalyn figured that he missed Darkwing as much as she did. That he was just as sad as she was.

And part of her wondered if he blamed her. Because Darkwing wouldn’t have been in danger if it hadn’t been for her.

Mrs. Cavanaugh let her have free reign over the orphanage during the day while the other school-age kids were gone, which should have delighted Gosalyn to not have to share toys or fight for space or watch the shows someone else wanted to watch or sleep in as long as she wanted. But mostly she spent a lot of time in the back play-yard, hitting hockey pucks at the wall or dribbling a soccer ball or under a tree doing her make-up work. When the kids got home from school, she would go and hide in the dormitory until dinner.

Gosalyn was lonely. But, at the same time, she wasn’t quite ready to be with other people.

It was the dormitory, one afternoon, when Mrs. Cavanaugh entered the hall. “Gosalyn? I know you don’t feel up for it, but you have a potential adoptive family who wants to meet you.”

Gosalyn frowned. This wasn’t the first time Mrs. C had found her and told her the same thing since she had gotten back. Gosalyn had turned them all away without having even looking at them. “You know my answer, Mrs. C.”

“I do know, dear,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said. “But, uh, Gosalyn… It’s the Mayor and his wife. I’m not saying they will adopt you if you don’t want them to, but I think it would be in the best interest if you at least meet with them. If only for a few minutes.”

Gosalyn considered. If she turned down the mayor… maybe other people would get the hint. “Will you stay in the room with me?”

“Of course, Gosalyn, if that makes you comfortable.”

Gosalyn followed Mrs. C out to the front room and then into the private room used for potential adoptive families to meet kids.

Gosalyn was barely through the door when she was pulled into an embrace, tensing up.

“Oh, what a darling little girl you are! I love you already!” The woman proclaimed.

“Maggie, dearest, let her breathe,” The man in the chair—Mayor Mallard—said with a chuckle.

Maggie Mallard let go of Gosalyn, only to kiss both of her cheeks then lead her to a chair. “Of course, I’m sorry, I just got too excited! I’m Maggie Mallard, and this is my husband, Saxony, and we’d just love to take you home and become your Mom and Dad!”

Gosalyn took a seat, but she shifted uncomfortably. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“Of course, darling!” Maggie said, looking like she was hanging on to Gosalyn’s every word.

“Well, why do you want to adopt me?” Gosalyn asked.

“We’re empty nesters,” Mayor Mallard answered, putting an arm around his wife. “And even though we have grandchildren… well, it is still a little lonely and we’re still young, and there’s so many children that need homes, so we thought ‘why not?’”

It seemed a cozy little answer, perfect in every way.

_Mayor Mallard says a lot of things, and ninety percent of it is lies._

Gosalyn could have sobbed right then and there from the memory of Darkwing, his voice so clear in her ear.

“Yeah, but why _me_?” Gosalyn stressed. “Because there are so many other children that need homes.”

“Ah, well, you’re at a good age for what we were considering,” Mayor Mallard explained. “Makes it an easier transition, to a certain extent.”

There were plenty of other children her age. Many who had been at the orphanage longer.

The only difference? Their names hadn’t been all over the news in the last month.

Gosalyn swallowed and looked at Mrs. C, who seemed to share her sentiments, and she stood up from the table. “Uh, thanks, but no thanks.”

“Come now,” Mayor Mallard said jovially. “Don’t be so hasty. Everything your heart desires will be yours. Your own room, and nephews to play with, and—”

“No,” Gosalyn said sharply. “There’s only one person I want to adopt me. And you’re not him. And you can’t be him. And he can’t adopt me, so I will never be adopted. I thank you for your offer to adopt me, but no thank you. I just… I can’t. And I won’t.”

With that, Gosalyn flew out of the room, retreating back to the dormitory.

In her wake, Mrs. Cavanaugh sighed and said, “I’m so sorry. I did try to warn you. She’s been all out of sorts, and—”

“Yes, yes,” Saxony said, beak in a tight line. “We understand.”

Mrs. Cavanaugh sighed again. “Forgive me for not being able to walk you out, but I believe I need to go check on Gosalyn.”

With that, she followed her charge out of the room.

Maggie frowned and looked at her husband. “I can’t believe she said no…”

“It doesn’t matter what she says,” Saxony said, scowling at the door. “She will be adopted, and she will be Gosalyn Mallard by the end of the week.”

Little did he know, his statement would become truth. Just not in the way he thought it would be.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Now, Mr. Mallard, do you have someone who is going to pick you up?” The nurse who wheeled Drake down to the front lobby of the hospital asked.

“I do,” Drake said, fiddling with the bag in his lap. He leaned forward and smiled. “Ah, here he is now.”

A slightly beat-up looking car slowed to a stop in front of the doors and Launchpad hopped out of the driver’s side, rushing around to open up the passenger door with a bow.

“Your chariot awaits,” Launchpad said dramatically.

Drake grinned, allowing the nurse to help him out of the wheelchair and get his crutch under him. Launchpad came over and took Drake’s bag, tossing it in the backseat before helping Drake get settled in the car. They waved good-bye to the nurse and then Launchpad got back in the driver’s seat.

“Where to, sir?” Launchpad asked as he buckled his seat-belt.

“St. Canard, Launchpad,” Drake said, getting comfortable in the seat for the long drive. “And step on it.”

“My pleasure,” Launchpad said.

He reached up and tapped the bobblehead of Darkwing Duck on top of the dashboard, which proclaimed in Jim Starling’s voice “Let’s get dangerous!”

Launchpad and Drake exchanged a grin, and they were off.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Gosalyn,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said from the entry to the dorms, where Gosalyn was sprawled on her stomach on her bed, reading a book. Or trying to read a book, as she had been reading the same page at least twenty times without absorbing a single word. “There’s a potential adoptive parent here who wants to see you.”

Gosalyn frowned. It had only been two days since she told the Mayor and his wife that she didn’t want to be adopted. She wasn’t in the mood for a repeat performance.

“I don’t feel well, Mrs. C,” Gosalyn told her.

Mrs. Cavanaugh sighed. “Very well. But can you promise me to talk with your therapist about what you told the Mayor and his wife the other day?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Gosalyn mumbled, looking back down at her book.

Mrs. Cavanaugh left, the door partially open. Gosalyn tried to actually read the page this time, but then she heard Mrs. Cavanaugh say, “My apologies, Mr. Mallard, but I’m afraid Gosalyn isn’t feeling well today.”

Gosalyn frowned and got off her bed. Mayor Mallard had come back? Seriously? And without his wife? Well, maybe that was for the best… She was too touchy-feely for Gosalyn’s preferences.

“Oh, uh, that’s a shame… Is there a better time I could come back, then?”

Gosalyn froze and rushed to the door.

That voice… She recognized that voice…

“Perhaps. Though frankly it appears that you’ve seen better days yourself.”

Gosalyn poked her head around the corner, her eyes widening as she saw Mrs. C talking with a male duck in a purple flannel shirt with his arm in a sling and leaning heavily on a crutch, his left leg in a cast.

“Oh, uh, the casts?” The man said awkwardly, looking down. “Just a little bit of a kitchen mishap.” Then, he seemed to catch sight of Gosalyn hiding behind the door frame, and a smile crossed his face. “You see, I have trouble making breakfast. It seems I always forget the milk.”

And then, so fast she almost missed it, he winked at her.

Gosalyn sucked in a breath and her eyes widened, tears rushing to her eyes as she ran forward.

“It’s you!” She cried out as she threw her arms around Darkwing Duck—an alive and mostly whole Darkwing Duck! “It’s really you!”

“Watch the ribs, kiddo!” Darkwing said, voice a bit tight with pain as he stumbled backwards some. “But, yeah, it’s me. It’s really me!”

Gosalyn looked up at him with shimmering eyes. “I can’t believe it, I thought you were—”

Darkwing rested his good hand on her head. “Nobody can stop Dar—I mean, Drake. Drake Mallard.”

He leaned down and whispered, “I promise, I’ll do a better job of taking care of myself in the future. Especially if I have an adopted daughter to take care of.”

Tears flowed from Gosalyn’s eyes and she buried her face in his stomach for a moment, hugging him tight, then she turned to a surprised Mrs. Cavanaugh and said, “Mrs. C, this is the only person I’ve ever wanted to adopt me, and I won’t have anyone else! Please, please let him adopt me!”

Mrs. Cavanaugh smiled and said, “Well, then, I think this is perhaps one of the easiest parent-child matches I’ve ever seen. We’ll get on the paperwork right away.”

“My lawyer is expecting a call,” Drake Mallard said as he handed Mrs. Cavanaugh a business card. “Would you mind if I took Gosalyn out for lunch, Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

“Please, Mrs. C, please?” Gosalyn begged.

Mrs. Cavanaugh, who knew it would mean bending the rules but as she was mostly happy to see the return of the old Gosalyn, she smiled and said, “Well, alright. But, Mr. Mallard, how do you drive around in your condition?”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Drake said, resting his hand on Gosalyn’s head. “My boyfriend will be the one driving.”

“Your boyfriend?” Gosalyn asked, her eyes wide with surprise as she twisted her head up to look at him.

Drake grinned at her. “Yeah. Come on, he’s very excited to see you again. He’s been missing you as much as I have.”

Gosalyn’s face lit up again and she ran for the doors, gasping when she saw Launchpad waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Launchpad!” She exclaimed, flinging herself into his arms.

“Hey, Gos!” Launchpad said, spinning her around.

“Ready to go get some lunch?” Drake asked as he carefully descended the stairs.

“Can we go to Hamburger Hippo?” Gosalyn asked as Launchpad settled her on his hip.

“Sure thing,” Drake said as they walked towards the car.

Mrs. Cavanaugh smiled as she watched them go. Yes, she had a feeling that those three would be very happy together…

A female stork in a business suit smiled at the two men and little girl as she walked past, then ascended up the stairs. “Hi, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“Hi Sarah, come on in,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said. She was familiar with this woman, as she was one of the local adoption attorneys and they worked together frequently. “How can I help you today?”

“I’m actually here to represent new clients, Mayor and Mrs. Saxony Mallard, who wish to adopt Miss Gosalyn Waddlemeyer,” Sarah answered.

Mrs. Cavanaugh frowned. “I’m afraid you’re too late. Gosalyn’s adoption process has already been started. For another family.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“So, Gosalyn, what do you think?” Drake asked, nervously putting one of the last of his fries in his mouth as Gosalyn slurped on her milkshake thoughtfully.

In addition to catching her up on the last two weeks over their meal at Hamburger Hippo, Drake had laid out the options Mr. McDuck had given him and his reasoning for wanting Gosalyn’s opinion.

Now it was for her to decide if he became Darkwing Duck again or not.

Gosalyn set down her cup and twisted in the booth, getting onto her knees so that she could look at Drake in the eye. Very seriously, she said, “I have one question.”

“Ask as many as you want,” Drake told her.

“Nope. Just one.” Gosalyn said. She threaded her fingers together in a prayer. “Can I go on patrol with you sometimes? Please? Pretty please?”

Drake exchanged a look with Launchpad, who was chuckling under his breath and giving him a look that said ‘Your call’. Drake sighed. “Maybe. Okay? I have the final say-so as to the when and wheres and hows. And you’d have to listen to me and Launchpad. And not on school nights. And—”

His next sentence was cut off by her arms around his neck. Drake smiled and wrapped his good arm around her. “I love you, Gosalyn,” He whispered.

“I love you, too, Drake,” Gosalyn whispered back. She let go of him and grinned, pulling out her cellphone. “Can I take a selfie of us? Because this needs a celebratory selfie.”

“Which part?” Launchpad asked. “The fact that Drake’s alive, the fact that Darkwing’s alive, or that you’re getting adopted.”

“All of it!” Gosalyn exclaimed with glee.

Drake and Launchpad grinned and gave their affirmative.

Gosalyn rearranged herself on the booth and held out the phone, directing Drake and Launchpad to get into the shot.

When it was perfect, she glanced over her shoulder. “What should we say? Cheese is totally not good enough for the occasion.”

“Then how about,” Drake said. “Let’s get dangerous.”

“Perfect!” Gosalyn said. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

“Let’s get dangerous!” The three chimed together.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“WHAT?” Saxony Mallard roared over the phone. “No, go back in and tell her—What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? Are you not the best adoption attorney in St. Canard? Fine! We’ll just find someone else then!”

With that, Saxony slammed the phone down and fumed, sulking down into his chair, arms folded over his chest.

“What was that about, Pop?” Campbell asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Gosalyn Waddlemeyer,” Saxony said through gritted teeth. “Is getting adopted.”

“Well, what’s the problem then?” Campbell asked, looking more confused than ever. “Isn’t that what you and Mom were trying to do?”

“She’s getting adopted by someone other than us,” Saxony explained irritably.

“What? No!” Maggie gasped, sitting down.

Duclair frowned. “Did the lawyer say who was adopting her?”

Saxony scoffed. “No, the orphanage director can’t give out that information.”

“Oh.” Binkie said from the chair she was curled up in, her eyes wide and trained on her phone. “Oh… Uh, Daddy?”

“What?” Saxony grunted, stewing.

“Well… I found out who is adopting Gosalyn. And you’re not going to like it…” Binkie said, lifting her eyes. She uncurled herself from her chair and brought her phone over to her father’s desk. He leaned forward, squinting at the screen, then reeled back.

“No,” He groaned. “No, it can’t be…”

“Who is it?” Maggie asked, coming over to look.

The family hovered around the desk.

Maggie gasped, hand to her chest dramatically.

Campbell blinked several times, certain that he definitely did have one too many concussions from his football days.

Duclair frowned. “Campbell, go get me some Starducks. This is going to need a lot of strategizing to play to our advantage…”

The picture displayed was from Gosalyn’s own social media, of the little girl seated in a booth at a fast-food place, two adult male ducks behind her, also grinning at the camera. The caption read: _This time, we didn’t forget the milk(shakes)! Lunch with my new dad-to-be, @DrakeMallardOfficial and his awesome boyfriend @imapilot!_

Drake Mallard, the shunned middle child of the mighty Mallard family of St. Canard, was adopting Gosalyn.

Saxony Mallard began to stew again.

This was no longer a matter of simple approval ratings. This was a matter of pride.

But then again…

“Duclair, don’t waste your talents on this,” Saxony said, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “Gosalyn will still end up with our family—the real family. Mark my words.”

“How do you figure?” Duclair asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It’ll go one of two ways,” Saxony said, tapping a button on Binkie’s phone to turn off the screen. “Either both the social work system and the justice system will prevail, and see that there is clearly no way that Drake is capable of raising a child. Or, if I’m wrong and somehow this adoption does somehow go through, then we—his loving and concerned family—will be around to provide evidence that Drake is unsuitable for being a parent. But not to worry for poor little Gosalyn, for her doting grandparents will gladly raise her as their own.”

Campbell frowned and reached for his sister’s phone. “Gee, Dad, I don’t know… They both looked really happy…”

“Happiness has nothing to do with any of this,” Saxony said, popping his son on the hand, causing Campbell to withdraw his hand, holding it to his chest as if he had been bitten. “But, at this point, we won’t interfere. If we do, there’s just more ways that it could back-fire on us and lower the approval ratings more than they already are.

“So for now, we watch and we wait. But mark my words: everything will end up according to plan.”

No one said a word, because they were all too aware of the fact that Saxony Mallard’s word was law. If he said it would happen, it would happen.

But none of them were ready to voice the niggling doubt.

That, this time, they weren’t quite sure that Saxony Mallard was going to win.


	11. Epilogue

“Just relax,” Mrs. B said as she adjusted Drake’s tie. “You’ll do fine.”

“What if the judge says no?” Drake asked nervously, wanting to pace outside the courtroom door.

“He won’t,” Scrooge assured him. “Your case is strong, your paperwork is all in order, Gosalyn has made her testimony, and you’ve got one of the best lawyers in Callisota on your side.”

Drake couldn’t believe this was happening. It had only been two months since he started the process of adopting Gosalyn, and somehow—miracle of all miracles—the adoption should be completed today. He knew he was lucky, it never took this fast to get through an adoption. He knew Scrooge had pulled some strings behind the scenes, though the old duck denied it whenever Drake asked. But it had been a long two months of paperwork and coffee and background checks and home buying and visits that never lasted long enough.

He thought for sure that the Moon Invaders storming Duckburg—which of course happened during the very first full weekend with Gosalyn the social worker approved of, because of course that was how Drake’s luck went—would have set the process back by weeks, but no.

All they had to do was get through this court date and that would be it. They’d be headed home to Duckburg, father and daughter.

Launchpad placed his hand comfortingly on Drake’s shoulder. “You’ve got this, DW.”

Drake took a deep breath, trying to take comfort in his boyfriend’s words. He wouldn’t have been able to get through this without Launchpad. He insisted on being the one to drive to St. Canard, even after Drake was finally free of his casts, to go with Drake on the visits with Gosalyn. He had spent hours with Drake poring over paperwork. Launchpad had even caught some mistakes that Gos’s social worker and the lawyer had completely missed. Launchpad had helped him pick a house, move in, choose furniture…

It was lovely and cozy and domestic in a way that Drake had never thought he’d ever experience and he loved it.

The courthouse doors opened and Mrs. Cavanaugh, the social worker, and Gosalyn entered. Gos didn’t seem too thrilled about the dress she was wearing, but when she started running to embrace Drake and Launchpad, Drake saw that she was wearing her favorite sneakers. He grinned at the subtle piece of rebellion, and picked her up, hugging her tight.

“Today’s the day,” He told her.

“Yeah!” Gosalyn said. “Adoption day! Finally! Feels like it’s been forever!”

“It feels like that to me, too,” Drake said, setting her back down again. But as he set her on the ground, he whispered in her ear, “LP and I’ve got a bag with jeans and a Duckburg hockey t-shirt in it for you after this. So you can ditch that dress as soon as possible.”

Gosalyn beamed. “You know me so well, Drake.”

“I sure hope so. I read a lot of paperwork all about you. I think I know you better than I know myself.”

Gosalyn laughed, then went to embrace Launchpad and catch up with him, Scrooge, and Mrs. B. Drake straightened and glanced around. However, he caught sight of two people that made his smile disappear and his stomach tighten, his blood cooling.

Oh, of all the people… Of all the ways to ruin this perfect day…

“Drakey!” His mother exclaimed, rushing forward to hug him.

“Mom?” Drake mumbled, pulling out of her embrace slightly. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“We found out about your case and we came to see!” Maggie Mallard said. “Oh, Drake, how could you not tell us that we were going to become grandparents again?”

“Easily,” Drake said flatly as he looked at his father warily.

Saxony Mallard smiled at his son, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ah, son, we can’t tell you how much it pained us when you left home… It’s been so long. But now, look! Here we are by serendipitous fate! And we can be a happy family again, and all because of—”

“Excuse me,” Launchpad said, stepping in, putting his hand on Drake’s shoulder, Gosalyn on his hip, the young girl clutching to Launchpad’s jacket. “But, Drake, Devin needs to speak with you before we go into the courtroom.”

“Ah, yes,” Drake said, grateful for Launchpad’s provided escape route. “Excuse me, I need to go speak with my lawyer.”

“And who are you?” Saxony asked, arching an eyebrow at Launchpad.

“Launchpad McQuack. Pilot and driver for Scrooge McDuck,” Launchpad said proudly.

“And my boyfriend,” Drake added, because he couldn’t resist, slipping his arm around Launchpad’s waist. “Now, sorry, we really need to take care of this before the judge calls us in.”

Drake, Launchpad and Gosalyn walked towards Devin, the lawyer, who did not—in fact—need to speak with them.

“Thanks for the save,” Drake whispered to Launchpad.

“Anytime, DW,” Launchpad said. “That’s what partners do.”

Gosalyn, however, looked over Launchpad’s shoulder and frowned slightly. “Drake, those are your parents?”

“Yeah,” Drake said.

“They wanted to adopt me, too. Two days before you showed up, actually,” Gosalyn told him. She was quiet, then she said, “I think I understand now. Why you avoided St. Canard.”

“I had hoped you wouldn’t have to,” Drake said, holding out his arms to take Gosalyn from Launchpad. She stretched her arms out and wrapped them around his neck in a tight hug, then Drake gave her a kiss on the head and set her on the ground. “Ready to go do this?”

“More than,” Gosalyn told him, taking his hand as the courtroom doors opened. She grinned up at Drake. “Let’s get dangerous?”

Drake smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “Let’s.”

Court was now in session…

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

To say that the mood was celebratory was an understatement. It had taken everything within Drake to not cheer and dance the moment that the judge signed the papers, making Gosalyn officially his daughter.

There was, however, a small dance party outside the courthouse.

There was another party waiting for them when they got home, which Drake hadn’t been expecting.

From the backseat, Gosalyn gasped. “Keen gear!”

Hanging over the garage was a homemade banner that read: WELCOME HOME, GOSALYN!

There was Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby and Lena waiting on the front lawn of 537 Avian Way, all bouncing with excitement as the car pulled into the driveway. Inside, there was even more excitement.

“Surprise!” Della exclaimed as the kids led Drake, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley into the house.

Drake looked up at Launchpad. “Did you know about this?”

“Duh. Who do you think gave ‘em a key?” Launchpad said proudly.

“Congratulations!” Donald Duck—Della’s twin brother, whom Drake had met during the Moon Invasion—exclaimed as he shook Drake’s hand.

“And welcome home!” Fenton said, offering his hand out for a high-five from Gosalyn.

“Glorious, glorious day!” Storkules exclaimed as he swooped Drake into a big hug. “Many felicitations on completing this arduous quest to achieve parenthood, Friend Drake!”

“Er, thanks, Storkules,” Drake said, trying to wiggle free for fear of being permanently lodged between the deity’s pectorals.

“Come on, we have cake!” Webby called out, leading everyone towards the dining room.

That, if nothing else, got Storkules to release Drake, who dropped to the floor. Donald sighed and rolled his eyes at his roommate, but helped Drake to his feet. “Don’t worry,” He told Drake reassuringly. “Della had no hand in making this cake, so it’s safe to eat.”

“Hey!” Della exclaimed, offended.

Sure enough, a large sheet cake was on the table that read: HAPPY ADOPTION DAY!

Drake looked around the room, his hands on Gosalyn’s shoulders. Launchpad, Scrooge, Mrs. Beakley, Della, Donald, Storkules, Fenton, Gyro, Manny the Man-Horse, Lil Bulb, the kids…

“Thank you everyone,” Drake said, his eyes watering with tears of joy. “For everything you’ve done, tonight and leading up to tonight, to help me and Gosalyn.”

“Thank us by cutting the cake,” Gyro snapped, his arms over his chest. “Putting up that banner was hard work, you know.”

“He’s got a weakness for frosting,” Fenton stage-whispered from behind a hand.

“It’s true,” Manny confirmed in his clopping-language.

“Shut up,” Gryo snapped. “Both of you.”

Cake was cut and Drake soon found himself sitting on the couch, Gosalyn in his lap, Launchpad at his side, happily chatting away about superhero business with Fenton until suddenly the other duck smacked a palm to his forehead and said, “I almost forgot! I’ve got a gift for you, Drake!”

“For me?” Drake said, confused.

“Yeah, hang on,” Fenton said, pulling out a small rectangular package wrapped in Darkwing Duck purple. “Go on, open it!”

Drake did so, pulling out a notebook, also in Darkwing Duck colors. “Uh, thanks, Fenton.”

“Open it,” Fenton encouraged.

Drake opened the notebook, and laughed at what was written at the top of the first page. “People Who Know I’m Darkwing Duck.” He read out-loud.

“Its good information to keep track of, believe me,” Fenton said, handing him a pen.

“Fenton, how much of your notebook is just—?” Huey started to ask but Fenton cut him off with, “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of people to add to the list,” Drake said, clicking the pen and putting down the first name. “Alright, so, Launchpad is first on the list, of course, since he’s the one who actually convinced me to become Darkwing Duck for real…”

“Can I sign my name?” Gosalyn asked. “I never got to sign your casts.”

Drake nodded and handed her the notebook and pen. She hopped off his lap and placed the notebook on the coffee table, taking her time. Grinning, she handed it back to him.

Drake looked at Gosalyn’s curly handwriting and smiled.

_Gosalyn Mallard_.

It was the first time she had written her name with her new last-name.

Drake felt his eyes water with tears and he pulled Gosalyn back into his lap, peppering her face with kisses.

“Drake!” She groaned. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“Get used to it, kiddo, I just signed papers that say I can embarrass you for the rest of your life!” Drake told her.

Gosalyn groaned again, but then giggled and initiated her revenge: tickling him.

Laughing, Drake tipped over, landing right in Launchpad’s lap, Gosalyn on top of him. Launchpad also laughed and ruffled the feathers on the top of Drake’s head.

Drake’s smile grew fond as he looked at the two most important people in the world to him.

He had to be the luckiest, happiest duck in the whole world.


End file.
